Winter's Fury
by LolaStark
Summary: Robb questions his honor when offered the hand of Stannis Baratheon's eldest daughter, Selene, in return for a powerful alliance in his war against the Lannisters. Selene questions more than her duty when she is left waiting on her wedding day for a husband she never wanted in the first place. AU - RobbxOC
1. Prologue

**Winter's Fury  
>by LolaStark<strong>

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><p><strong><strong>| Prologue |<strong>**

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and my original plot. Everything else belongs to GRRM and HBO accordingly.

Author's Note: Oops, I started another story didn't I? Sorry about that. I am supposed to be on a much needed hiatus but I got in the mood one day to finally start writing Winter's Fury even though I promised myself I would finish one more story before I got into it. But the fact of the matter is, I have been holding onto this story for too long, over a year now, and I wanted to post it before something similar got posted and I had to regret it. Selfish, I know. That being said, I hope you enjoy this story. Selene is a character I have been writing for a long time now and I'm eager to share her. Please let me know what you think of her and this story as it progresses. And as usual, any feedback is greatly appreciated.  
>Thanks everyone, Lola.<p>

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><p><strong>| Seventeen Years Prior - Robert's Rebellion |<strong>

SELENE

She shivered with every step of her feet, her toes cold against the stone floors of the staircase. She could hear the storms outside, the thunder pulsing through the castle as if it is a stirring beast in the dungeons of her home.

She remembered thinking it was, once. Beasts, dragons maybe.

Her uncle often told her such dark stories that made her skin crawl and her fingers tremble with fear. But not anymore. Now she would be brave, she reminded herself as she descended further and further in the pit of the castle where a glowing light was now growing brighter and brighter with each step.

Her hands still grasped the railing, just in case she slipped, she thought. She did not realized until another bout of thunder shook the stone fortress that she had not overcome her fear. Still she shook as her fingers clung to the rail. Still she felt her heart pounding in her chest as if she might explode from the inside out. Still she was afraid.

_Be brave_, were her father's words in her mind, his voice seemed to echo into the darkness above as she glanced back from where she had come.

The shrunken stairwell, leading down into the depths of the castle belonged to the servants. It was the hidden passage from the main hall to the dungeons. It was the path she was always forbidden to take. But times were different now. Times were dire and bleak indeed although perhaps she was too young to really understand why.

She understood only that adults often talked in front of her in hurried whispers. Her father would shout, pound his fists onto the tables as he grew weaker and weaker by the day whilst her mother sobbed in the corner, gripping her stomach where there was once to be a son.

Now there was only Selene. As it had always been.

No one whispered now. There were shouts when necessary but almost always silence instead. They were too weak to argue, too weak to fight back. Even Selene felt the weakness wrenching deeper and deeper into her and each weary step made her wish she had stayed put as her mother had instructed.

But she couldn't stay put. She needed to be there, with the rest of them. She needed comfort and warmth because she knew soon there would be none left. Perhaps it was a dark thought. But she knew what fate was coming for her. She was very young but that had not stopped her father from speaking the truth. Soon there would be death and it would come in many forms.

But she did not know which would be the one to come for her.

A familiar smell hit her then, a strong smell that caused her stomach to turn. There was nothing in her stomach, nothing to heave even if she wanted to. Instead she covered her nose, scrunching it under her hand as she pretended that it did not exist. Pretended that she did not know the smell of a rotting corpse.

"My Lady," a man whispered from her right and she jumped slightly at the sound.

Looking up she saw a familiar face of one of her father's knights. He once had a warm face and a kind smile. Now he was tired and weak like the rest of them. Like her. She might have been the strongest person in Storm's End but she was too young and small to make any difference. She did not know why they wasted all they had on her.

"You ought not be here, My Lady," he whispered frantically, reaching down to pick her up but she stumbled backwards. She gasped, frightened when she saw it was a man, his eyes shut and his face gaunt and weathered. Dead, she thought and she covered her mouth as she tried not to scream.

She made her self stand, without help from the man above her. She turned her eyes from the dead man lying on the ground, only to find another just over her shoulder. She hated this room, feared it even. But she wanted to see her father, needed to see him. As soon as she started to ask, muffled shouts from the nearest room were indication enough of his location.

The door was slightly ajar and a candle flickered somewhere within its enclosed space. She knew why her father's knight wanted to usher her out. The siege had made her father hard and cold. But most of all, he was growing weaker by the day and it was something he preferred to do without prying eyes. Even his own daughter's.

"My Papa?," she whispered and her small voice was hoarse now.

The knight reached down to pick her up again and this time she let him with a frown on her pursed lips. She was too tired to argue, too frail to protest his kindness. Everyone always wanted to pick her up because of her size. She was small, miniscule to the rest of them, tall giants in her eyes. She was only a child, her fourth name day some time off yet. She did not understand everything or even most things that were going on. But she knew very well that they were in trouble.

The knight carried her from one dimly lit room to another, her head fallen weakly on his shoulder, and it was there that she saw her father. Dark circles were under his eyes as he hovered over his table with papers sprawled around him and his hair disheveled. He was the only one standing amongst his men, men who wore the same tired expressions as the knight whose arms carried her quietly into the room.

"We have no more resources, My Lord. We have degraded ourselves for that of our survival and soon, all hope will be lost. We have nothing left except the decaying bodies of our fallen comrades," one man explained, his tone defeated.

"Mace Tyrell is at our gates. We cannot defeat him. We are too weak, wasting away in here. Dying off one by one as he would have us," another tried to shout but it came out as only a desperate sigh.

"Take your family, My Lord Stannis, and leave this place."

"There is no leaving this place, not now. We are past all points of escape. This is all we have left. Storm's End is the seat of my ancestors, Storm Kings of old. I will _not_ flee."

Her father only glanced up briefly when silence interrupted his ranting and he saw her tired eyes focused on him. He stared at her with an expression rarely seen. But she did not take her eyes of him as tears began to form in her previously dry eyes. She wanted to lift her head but she couldn't. She was tired and now scared.

"Papa," she cried out and the ache in her voice caused several of the men to shift uncomfortably at her pain.

"I will take care of her," her mother declared, embarrassment in her voice as if Selene had just humiliated her in front of the entire council. But she saw her father hold his hand to stay his wife's movements. She stayed seated, her eyes watching his movements carefully but Selene did not notice if it was relief or jealousy in them.

There was only a moment's hesitation in his step, and then her father was quickly at her side. He wasted no time in taking her from the knight, conceding to her outstretched arms and pulling her small body to his chest.

She wanted to stay there, engulfed in what warmth he had left as they left the room. His hand once covered her eyes to bar her from seeing the horrors that had become of Storm's End and it's near year long siege. But now he no longer bothered. She knew what had become of her home, of the fortress that had once been so feared.

It was only a matter of time before they all succumbed.

Still, she did not want to see more death, the death the lingered in the dampness of the dungeons and so she shut her eyes against her father's shoulder. She left tear stains on his tunic, all ratty and worn because she was sure he'd been wearing the same one for at least a week, maybe more.

She did not open her eyes until they reached the great hall, the seat where her Uncle Robert usually sat was now occupied by her father as he cradled her in his arms. She fought to keep her eyes open as he glanced down at her, his normally hard eyes warm with something she did not know. But she liked it, and so no matter how badly she wanted to sleep, she fought to keep them open so she could memorize that look and keep it with her always.

"Papa, I'm scared," she forced herself to whisper into the dark room.

He simply nodded. She did not know what it meant, a nod of the head. That it was okay to be scared or perhaps that he was scared as well. Candlelight danced over his eyes and she saw there was water in them, just in the corners and she reached up to wipe them. His eyes closed when her small fingertips grazed his stubbled face. She thought maybe it was because he was tired too. Like her.

"You don't have to be scared for much longer," he whispered into her hair, his calloused fingers stroking her dark raven curls.

She thought she felt something sharp against her flesh, something cold like metal but her eyes were too tired to open once they had closed. She wanted to sleep. When she slept she didn't hurt, she didn't feel constant pain or hunger. She just dreamt.

"MY LORD STANNIS!" someone shouted and it startled her enough that she jerked in her sleep.

"LEAVE US!" her father shouted, though his shout was was strangled by the dryness of his throat.

"But My Lord! It is a miracle!" the man tried to explain and though Selene's weak mind was too tired to comprehend what said miracle was, she noticed a shift in her father's stature, in his eyes. "A man called Davos has made it through Lord Redwyne's fleet lines. His boat is filled with food!"

Food, she thought. She remembered food.

"Send him in," Stannis muttered quickly and she thought he might have tried to stand, holding her still in his arms but he wavered slightly and was soon seated once more.

Selene wanted to see the food, wanted to see the miracle man who was causing something akin to hope to flicker behind her father's eyes once more. She struggled to sit up but her head was too heavy. She laid it across her father's chest as she pried her eyes open, rubbing them with her small hands footsteps flooded the room.

He stood there, a man with a hard face like her father's, covered in rain and a hood of rather poor quality. Over his shoulder he carried a large sack which he threw to the floor as soon as he stood before her father. Both men stared at one another for a long moment before the wet man knelt before Lord Stannis of the House Baratheon.

"Milord," he started simply, but there was confidence in his voice, a strength that Storm's End has been lacking for some time since the siege took hold. But it filled the room, and Selene liked the sound of it. "I have heard of the Seige on Storm's End and have made my way across enemy lines in hopes that there were still enough people alive in here that I could do some good."

"Who are you?" her father asked. "How did you break through Redwyne's fleet?"

"I…" the man started and his eyes glance downward. "I know my way around Breakwater Bay, Milord, and I know how to do so discreetly."

"You mean of course to say that you are a smuggler," her father retorted and she thought for a moment that she heard some humor in his voice.

But the man reached for the sack that he had previously dropped and he let the contents spilled out onto the stone floor before him. It was dark in the room, only a small candle lit and soon it too would burn out like most of the others and the castle would then be engulfed in constant darkness. But there was enough light that she could see something round, something that rolled out of the bag towards where they are seated and the man wrapped his fingers around one and stands.

"May I approach, Milord?" he asked and her father took some time before he nodded his assent. "Tis but a humble offering. But the siege has gone on too long. I couldn't sit out there knowing so many were starving to death in here." He placed the round object in her father's hands and she glanced over at it as he looked it over, his eyes wide.

"How much have you brought?" her father asked then and the man summons someone with his hand. Several men filed in behind him, carrying sacks similar to the one laid out before them now and they laid them down next to the man's feet. He grabbed another round object, this one smaller and that time he handed it to her and his eyes lingered on something in her father's hand and then on her.

"It looks as if I arrived just in time," he replied quietly and there is something strange in the look her father gave back to him.

"They did say you were a miracle," Stannis said and it almost sounds like a joke.

Selene stared at the object for many moments before the man knelt down at her level and took one of the round things in his own hand before he bit into it, not bothering to wipe the liquid that spilled out over his beard.

She followed his action, remembering how her stomach growled earlier that evening and she made a face when the taste hits her tongue. The man laughed at the sight of it, finally wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic as he watched her in amusement.

"You will get used to the taste of it Milady," he assured her and she took another bite.

The second bite, as it turned out, was not so bad.

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><p><span>AN: Thank you for reading the first chapter - prologue - however you want to call it. Please leave any questions or comments in the review box below. And please enjoy the upcoming chapters. Thanks again!


	2. Chapter One

Author's Note: Thank you for taking the time to read the prologue and now chapter 1! Back to the present day and I am throwing us right into the War of the Five Kings. Please enjoy!

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><p><strong>| Chapter One |<strong>

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><p><strong>| Present Day - War of the Five Kings |<strong>

SELENE

There was nothing more freeing than the feeling of a salty breeze, rushing against one's face. It was her theory, that a harsh enough wind could erase any burdens, lift them and cast them out to sea. She had yet to prove such a theory, however, and even with the rushing wind and the stinging salt in her eyes, her burdens felt as heavy as ever.

She had not been to Dragonstone in many years, she thought, as she sat at the bow of the ship, a book in hand and a few sideways glances at the bustling harbor. She was supposed to be in her lessons, hidden away from view of all the common people who did not have her father's express permission to gaze upon her. These were desperate times, he'd told her. A new era was upon them. But she had a mind of her own and it needed relief, the kind of relief that could not be won cooped up inside castle walls and away from prying eyes.

There was one pair of prying eyes, however, that watched her with a smirk on his tight lips and she pretended not to notice as she flipped through another page of her book, pushing a dark curl behind her ear.

Allard was supposed to be cleaning his ship, the ship that her father had given his father and in turn, had then been passed down to him. But instead of swabbing the deck he ate his apple and watched her read as he often did on days like these.

"I wonder if I'll ever see your nose outside a book, Milady," he mused, sinking his teeth into the apple's skin and though she does not see him, she can hear the puncturing of the red flesh.

"My mind needs constant stimulation," she teased, without a twist of her lip or a single glance upward and she could hear him chuckle as he tossed the core or whatever was left overboard into the waters below.

His boots were loud as he walked across the wooden deck, each step it's own distraction and she even lost her place once or twice until he finally stopped, barely an arm's length in front of her. It was then that she allowed herself to remove her eyes from the worn pages of her favorite book, up over his doublet, his arms and then his pointed chin. Finally she found his eyes, as she moved passed his lips and distinguished nose.

His eyes were dark, a warm brown that eased her mind when it was constantly spinning. His teeth appeared under his grin, his lips peeled back and it was a look that always caused something unseemly to tug at her stomach.

He crouched down so that he was at her level, something he almost never did because, as it happened, Selene was somewhat tall for her gender. She often stood at the same height as him, looking him straight in the eye as if they were equals. She liked to believe they were, equals in all things. Her knowledge of maritime warfare and ships rivaled that of his own. To that, he had been hard pressed to admit.

His hand touched her chin in the same way he always did, tilting it upwards ever so slightly so he could stare down at her lips, ripe for the taking. He wouldn't, not here, not when they were so very far from alone. But he'd stare at them, longingly and with each passing moment Selene could feel something rising within her. It started in her stomach, deep in the lowest part of her belly as if it was dancing beneath her flesh. And soon it would rise, speeding the pounding of her chest and warming the blood in her pale cheeks so much she must have looked like a fool every time he put his hands on her.

But she could not help herself. She rarely enjoyed physical contact. In fact, most times she found herself pulling away when someone would reach out to touch her. A simple graze of the hand at a dinner caused a discomfort to swell in her stomach, and not in a pleasant manner.

But for some unexplainable reason, the hands of Allard Seaworth were immune to her distastes. And if she was honest with herself, it was nearly all she thought about when her mind wandered off in the darkest part of the night.

"I would like to remember you like this," he whispered and her heart skipped when she felt his breath dance over her lips. His thumb traced the bottom one so softly that she felt herself tremble. "Will you think of me while I'm away?"

She wished she had some sort of witty response on hand, something that would make him laugh, tease him slightly instead of looking as desperate as she assuredly did as she leaned into him and glanced towards his mouth.

"You know I will," she whispered and she knew it would please him because he then grabbed her hand.

He lowered his head then towards her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers lightly, lingering over each and every one until he finally pressed her palm against his lips and set it gently back into her lap. It was a gentle action, sweet even and only slightly out of character.

Allard enjoyed taking action when it came to Selene. He was the one who pursued her. He was the one who incessantly chipped away her walls until she was finally inclined to take notice of him perhaps despite her better judgement. He was the one who had pushed her, not so gently, up against the wall of the ship's galley and gifted her a first kiss. Her very first.

If ever Selene could love a man, she thought, perhaps it could be Allard.

When he pulled away quickly, she knew they were no longer alone. She glanced up under her lashes and saw his father, Ser Davos making his way onto the ship and Allard did not glance at her again, not in the presence of King Stannis Baratheon's most loyal man. Davos only barely acknowledged his son. His true mission was her, she could tell by his solemn expression and the way his eyes would not meet hers at first.

"Princess," was his greeting, bowing his head slightly and she frowned at the use of the title she had now come to despise. It had a new meaning now. Now, it was too real. "Your father requests your presence."

"Yes of course," she replied, her shoulders back and her head high. Just as she was taught. He reached out his hand and she took it gently, allowing him to help her from her place. She held his arm in one hand, and her book in the other and despite Davos' knowing stare, she could not help but glance over her shoulder as they departed the ship to see Allard one last time.

He didn't look back.

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><p>She stood for a long while before he acknowledged her.<p>

The room was dark, only a few candles lit on his desk where he was reading over a letter. He did not look up as she entered, Davos on her right. The Red Woman was there, sitting elegantly on the edge of his desk, reading over his shoulder like a devil whispering her evil plots down his neck.

Her father seemed enamored by the woman and her ideas. But Selene found her altogether unsettling. From brief glances and not-so-subtle scoffs, it was clear that Davos shared her opinion about the woman whose false beliefs had led her father to commit parricide, and in some eyes, regicide.

_Kinslayer_, they whispered.

She thought of her uncle, but only for a brief moment because she felt like when she did she was betraying her father. As if a disapproval of his actions, of his reliance on the Red Witch at his side, was directly defying him as a king.

She may have disagreed with her father on many matters but of his right to rule, she did not. She knew that Ned Stark had discovered the Queen's secret, that her children were products of incest with the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister. It was a shocking revelation, but not altogether surprising. Selene had seen the way the twins had behaved with one another, the slight resemblance of Joffrey's smirk or Tommen's laugh to the man they called 'Uncle'. But she dared not speak of such things, even to her father for fear of what consequences might befall her family. It was Ned Stark who had paid the ultimate price for his loyalty to Robert. And it was her father, Stannis Baratheon - a second son - who was now the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

Of that she supported him wholeheartedly.

But to support and desire were two different matters entirely. Her father may have toyed with the prospect of becoming King one day, of wearing a crown and ruling a kingdom. But Selene had never once entertained the idea in her head, not even for a moment. She knew the dangers of what moments could do, of how quickly danger could descend upon the unsuspecting.

In one brief moment a king had died, a great man had lost his head, and she had become a princess to the Seven Kingdoms, as had Shireen. They could have refused, let Renly usurp the throne and take all of his Southern support with him to win back the crown. King's Landing would have adored him. But he would not have been the King they needed. And Selene knew, despite her unwillingness to rule one day, that her father was not only the rightful king, but the ruler the Kingdoms deserved.

"Has Willas Tyrell attempted to reconcile?" were her father's first words to her and still his eyes were focused on the parchment in his hand. She fiddled with a bit of parchment of her own in the folds of her dress as she concealed the letter from the Lord in question.

Melisandre's eyes traveled up to meet hers and Selene tried her best not to reveal how much the woman made her skin crawl. Davos shifted uncomfortably next to her and she could have sworn they both were holding their breath.

"I did in fact receive a raven from Lord Willas, only this afternoon," she admitted though she had been in no hurry to share the news.

"And did he speak of the engagement?" he questioned and suddenly she felt as if she were under one of his interrogations.

"He asked about the weather and was very generous with his pleasantries. But there was very little discussion of our arrangement. In fact, I believe he mentioned that his sister, Lady Margaery, was being welcomed to King's Landing, alongside her brother Ser Loras," she answered and it was as they both had suspected.

Per her Uncle Robert's request, she had been betrothed to Willas Tyrell for the obvious purposes of uniting two very important houses. Gold of course was the ultimate goal of the marriage and along with the Baratheon prestige the crown would receive much Tyrell gold. But tensions had increased close to the death of the King. And soon after, Renly had declared himself Robert's heir and Margaery Tyrell his queen.

She had heard very little from Willas then and she suspected it had everything to do with the Tyrells choosing which Baratheon they were planning to back in this power struggle. But once news of Renly's untimely and mysterious death had spread, once again she began hearing from her former betrothed though no mention was made of their contract. That was, until she read that Margaery was being considered to wed the new king. Joffrey.

It was a subtle hint at what she had already inferred. Willas may not have been her ideal choice in husband, but he was nothing if not a gentleman. He had given her fair warning that their alliance was coming to an end. Once a crown was on Margaery's beautiful little head, then there would be no use of Selene Baratheon, daughter of a traitor.

"I think it is safe to assume that the Tyrells will be no help to us in this war you plan to wage," she spoke and her voice was calm and brazen.

Melisandre looked at her in surprise, as if Selene's words were too bold for her station. But Selene was the daughter of a king now, heiress to the Seven Kingdoms. Her place would always be that above the harlot snake.

"And what would you suggest? We both know that if the Tyrells align with the Lannisters, we will lose support in the South," he reminded her and she felt more relaxed like this, more comfortable talking to her father about strategy rather than love letters.

She had suggested Dorne many times over for no reason other than the Martells held ungodly amounts of gold. Without gold, there was no hope of restoring the succession. Stannis Baratheon might have been the rightful heir, but the nobles would not back him without gold to fill their pockets.

"We have neglected the idea of turning to the Martells for too long," she finally says and she can tell they are about to have the same argument they've had time and time again.

"The Martells have no reason to back us, not when it was a Baratheon who unseated their sister," Stannis stated reasonably with a slight hint of impatience in his low tone.

"And yet it was the Lannisters who were responsible for her death," she contradicted. "We could give them the perfect excuse to finally exact their revenge."

"It would be a disaster in the making, My King," the Red Woman cooed and Selene could feel her fingers closing into fists. "The Martells will back you until they can unseat you as well. They will not discriminate in their revenge of those who wronged their House. It was your brother who sat on the throne previously occupied by their allies and their own blood."

"And who might you propose then," Selene hissed and her father's eyes fell on her with disapproval at her tone. "While I make no apologies for my impatience, My Lord Father, I do beg to know who she has her eyes set on that she insists on interjecting her opinion of who I should marry."

Her father might have reprimanded her, but it seemed as though he, too, was curious at the Red Woman's reaction. All three of them glanced up at her, waiting for her response as she slid down off the desk, her eyes trained on Selene as she made her way to the large map, sprawled out over the table displaying all of Westeros.

Her path twisted as she edged the coast of Storm's End, past Dragonstone and then the Vale until she reached her intended target. Her fingers enclosed over a figurine, large and made of marble. From where she stood, Selene could see it was a direwolf and she already knew she would not like the words that would next come off the woman's lips.

"Robb Stark has already begun his campaign towards King's Landing-" she began but Selene scoffed immediately.

"Father," she begged, amusement in her voice at the idea of Robb Stark, the self-proclaimed King in the North. "I feel I must object. The mention of the boy's name alone is ludicrous."

"And yet I still have yet to hear a viable option to contradict it," he replied. Her eyes grew wide at his insinuation. This wasn't news to him. The Red Woman had already made him part of another of her plots.

"He names himself king against the throne that is rightfully yours!" Selene's voice began to rise above what she had been told was a lady-like octave. But she did not care what was appropriate. She was the future queen and if he wanted her to act like one, than he would have to listen to her raise her voice. "And what good, might I ask, would come out of my marriage to a rebel house? A house that has publicly renounced all ties to our throne and our Kingdoms as well as any respect for it's rulers."

"I am out of options, Selene. We have no friends in this war, aside from our bannermen. We have no allies that will help us take King's Landing. Robb Stark wants revenge for his father's death and I doubt he will have any qualms when I hand him Ned Stark's killers."

"And when this war is through, do you think Robb Stark will give up his North? The Northerners fight for him now. They will never fight for us. Not after they have been so recently liberated."

"Perhaps they will, for a Baratheon Queen," he replied and she tried to come to terms with the word. Her eventual fate if the crown was returned to them. Much sooner if she married the Stark. "Stark needs ships. You will bring with you a fleet of them as your dowry. With the Young Wolf's army at our backs, we can take back Westeros. I can repair what Robert destroyed. If the succession is restored then the North is a sacrifice I am willing to make."

"They will not trust you," she whispered. "I have heard that Lady Stark was at Storm's End. They say she was there when my Uncle was murdered." Her father's jaw tightened. "How do you expect them to trust us?"

"You underestimate your worth, Selene. To offer you to Stark would give him an immense amount of power when I die."

"If we succeed," she reminded him but his expression was beginning to grow impatient with her comments.

"If I do not, then the fight would be yours," he informed her, his tone serious. "That crown is your birthright."

"And if I do not want it?"

He stood then, quickly at first because she had offended him. She knew it would anger him to say such a thing and for a moment that was what she wanted, a moment to speak freely. But as he walked over to her, he looked at her with determination, as if in that simple glance he could impress upon her his same desire to fix the kingdoms.

"We are not afforded such luxuries as choice. The realm is our responsibility and it is our duty to ensure it is looked after." Many moments passed as he looked down at her, her father's height that rivaled her own. Soon she could see his expression darkening. "Is this about that boy?" he asked, not bothering to whisper, his frown deepening. "Did I not make myself clear about him?"

She did not look to Davos, who was still on her right. It would only make matters worse. She only looked up at her father, looked at the disappointment in his eyes. It was a look she was not familiar with. She was not sure how to explain herself now that her expression had assuredly given her away.

"Father you must understand-"

"No," he nearly shouted, interrupting her attempt to explain. And then his voice lowered. "It is you who must understand. Do you think I would ever let you marry the son of a smuggler, let alone a second son?" he asked, his voice softer than she'd expected but the sound of it sent chills down her back.

"Ser Davos is a knight," she said defiantly. "His sons-"

"Are not," he interrupted. "You are my heir, the heir to the Iron Throne should we succeed in this war, and you will not have Allard Seaworth for a husband. How many times have I told you before, your marriage is not your decision?!"

"Am I to have no choice then? I am to be queen and yet I have no power?"

"You are not queen yet, girl," he said darkly. "King's sell their daughters for alliances. That is the way this world works. It is time you put your childishness aside and stop believing that you are any different."

He left her then, anger in his eyes that matched her own. Baratheon Fury in their Baratheon blue eyes. She was glad when the Red Woman followed, a snide smirk on her lips as she followed her king. She was alone in the room then with only Ser Davos in the corner, staring up at her as she sat at her father's vacant desk chair. She glanced down over the map, tracing her fingers over the North and sighed.

"You father does not mean those words, Princess," he told her and she laughed, bitterly.

"Does he not?" she replied. "It is a surprise he even acknowledges me at all. Oh had my mother just given him the son he wanted," she groaned.

"And do you think that would truly give you leave to marry my son?" he asked, his tone more amused than anything and she shrugged. "Do you refuse to marry Robb Stark because of Allard, Selene?"

Her eyes rose from the table and she looked up at Davos. This man who had always seemed like a hero to her, a man above men. More of a father than her own.

"It is nothing so foolish, Ser Davos" she admitted. It was the truth. If she had felt herself in love with anyone then perhaps she could love Allard Seaworth. But she knew better than to subject herself to such feelings. What use was love in this game of thrones? she often told herself.

"He would not make you a good match, child," Davos told her and she was surprised at his words. "Allard is rash and headstrong. You two would clash more days than you would love. And as much as I would be honored to call you my daughter, Selene, I cannot let you marry him."

"Do you think Stark will agree to it?" she whispered, not acknowledging the words that had just passed between them. She did not want to think of Allard then. Or perhaps ever again for fear of what she might feel.

"I cannot say for sure. From what I have heard, he is Ned Stark's son, through and through. If any ally is to be trusted it would be him. I think he will listen to reason and he will see that he needs more strength in this war if he wishes to succeed. And he'll need your ships if he wants Casterly Rock." She agreed with him on that. She, too, had heard rumors of this Young Wolf who set out to avenge his father. "But most of all, I think he would make you a better husband than a Martell. He is a good man, from what I do know. And he will treat you honorably and with kindness."

"They say he is betrothed, that his how he came by so many Frey men," she countered. "How can we expect a man who prides himself on his honor to go back on his word? A man who trades one bride for another to get what he wants. How good are his promises then?"

It was a valid question.

"Pacts change during war and sometimes, there are more important choices to make. If he is any man of reason, he will see that this opportunity is bigger than any old bridge. Old Walder will be placated with gold."

"The promise of gold, you mean."

It was a statement, not a question.

"Indeed."

"Very well then. If the Stark agrees to it," she whispered, hesitating slightly, realizing she was willingly about to sell herself to a stranger. "I will marry him."


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

* * *

><p><span>ROBB<span>

He read the letter more than once, more than twice even and still the words were the same. Still Stannis Baratheon, with his signature and his seal, was attempting to negotiate an alliance.

"It sounds like a farce," Olyvar says from over his shoulder, causing Robb to jump slightly at his proximity.

Olyvar Frey was his squire, a young man of one and twenty, was fast becoming Robb's closest friend in Theon's absence. He had yet to hear back word from his foster-brother who had traveled west towards his former home of Pyke to garner support from his father, Balon Greyjoy.

It seemed as though the weeks were quickly turning into endless months, each battle bringing him closer and closer to his goal of taking Lannisport and in turn, Casterly Rock. His campaign had been largely successful thus far. But although Robb had never lost a battle, he still felt as though he was losing this war.

He wanted Tywin Lannister's head on a pike, his children and his grandson's alongside it. And yet all he had to show for his success was holdings in the Westerlands that he wanted nothing to do with. Land beyond land, nobles bowing to his every whim, but not the revenge that he so desperately sought out for.

Olyvar read the letter once more and Robb knew he had to go to his council with Stannis's proposition. It was an alliance, with Stannis Baratheon, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Robb suddenly felt very much like his father, fighting to usurp a king, the Wolf and the Stag coming together. But in the end both the Stag and the Wolf had suffered for their friendship. And Stannis was nothing like his brother Robert.

The rumors did not take long to reach Robb's camps, and the suspicious death of Renly Baratheon had been confirmed by his mother's arrival and tale of a sinister murder orchestrated by none other than Stannis himself. But it was nothing but a ghost story, something they could not prove.

She would not approve, he knew that, and he weighed his mother's opinion above all others. But he could not deny that with each day he did not hear from Theon, he grew more and more unsure of himself and his ultimate ability to finish this war he had started. Could he take Lannisport without Greyjoy ships? Could he turn on King's Landing without a fleet to lay siege to the Great Keep?

Even he was not so foolish to try.

But Stannis Baratheon was the former Master of Ships to the Seven Kingdoms. Even now, as the heir to Robert's throne he commanded an impressive fleet of his own. It would be worth an alliance. Stannis wanted King's Landing, it was his birthright, and Robb wanted to rid the Lannisters of their power, and their lives. Together they might be able to accomplish both of their goals.

But at what cost? he wondered.

He did not know if it was a wise decision, but the simplicity of indulging the man in a parlay seemed too good an offer to pass up. It was a risk that was worth taking. Stannis was just as desperate as him for this war to be over. And if he was coming to Robb for help, then he must have exhausted his options elsewhere. Which meant he might be willing to concede quite a lot to seal this arrangement.

And Robb was willing to find out just what the old man had to offer.

* * *

><p>"Was this truly the best idea?" his mother asked, sitting atop her horse as they stood on neutral ground, leaning over to keep her voice low as they saw Stannis and his guard approaching up the hill.<p>

"I cannot win this war without more allies, mother. You warned me I could not trust Balon Greyjoy and perhaps you were right. Now I must remedy this whilst I still can," he explains and he knows she's already agreed that their current situation might be only good for a last resort. But soon, Robb knew he could be grasping at straws.

Pinkmaiden was a fair distance from his camp, but it was as far away from his army as he will dare travel during this war. He feared leaving his bannermen idle for too long would cause them to long too much for their homes. The longer the men sat, the more likely they were to abandon their cause all together. So when Stannis trotted up, a older man on his left and a woman, dressed in all red on his right, he was in no mood to waste time with pleasantries.

"Your Grace," Robb managed to greet, dismounting his horse and giving a slight bow of his head to the man who was only slightly taller than himself. Robb was not sure what to expect, having only heard stories of the man with a heavy brow and a straight upper lip.

He was everything his father told him, cold eyes and an even colder expression. He seemed almost bored, as if Robb had been the one to call the parlay and it was him wasting the Stag King's time. But with a slight bow of his own head, he too showed Robb respect worthy of his title before placing his hands behind his back in contemplation.

Stannis was first to speak. "I thank you for meeting me," he began. "I know you and I both are far too busy warring with our enemies, but it has recently come to my attention that you and I share an enemy, an enemy that perhaps would be more easily defeated if we were on common ground."

"I gathered so much from your letter," Robb replied sternly. He did not mean to be rude, but he also did not want to seem weak or intimidated by the experienced man in front of him. He thought if it were someone else, they might smile. In fact,the woman behind him smiled slightly at Robb's boldness. But this was Stannis Baratheon, and Robb had heard stories that bordered on legends of the man who never dared smile.

"I want to be clear that I do not condone your rebellion," he announced, like a father scolding his son. "I believe rising up against one's king is an act of treason. One which I would answer with my sword were it one of my subjects. That being said, you have risen against a false king, a king who is nothing more than the bastard product of incest. And that I cannot find fault in."

"Had you been the one to murder my father, I would have done the same." His mother's hand clutched tightly around his wrist then, a hidden warning beneath the safety of their thick cloaks but Robb did not bother to hide his bitterness towards the crimes committed against their family. "The North was free and independent once, and it will be again. I do not rebel against a tyrant king, but I instead liberate my people as we seek out justice for the wrongs against our own."

"An admirable mission, I assure you," Stannis replied, his voice dry and unfeeling. Robb does not know if it is meant to be a compliment or an insult. "But it is not your North I come to you about, nor is it my aim to acquire it once this war is through. Instead, I come to negotiate terms for peace between our houses, and an alliance that could prove beneficial to us both."

"What is it you want?" Robb asked, wasting no time and by Stannis' expression, the man seemed to respect this.

"I simply want manpower and an ally with whom I can trust to help me secure King's Landing," the Stag explained. "The capitol is not as strong as they would have you believe. I've seen the storerooms, I know how many people live in that city and one siege would bring them all to their knees."

"To lay siege you would need to take Blackwater Bay, and to take the Blackwater, you would need an entire fleet," Robb added and Stannis glanced back at him as if the Young Wolf had just overstated the obvious.

"Yes, I do indeed need a fleet, a fleet which I already command," he replied.

"It seems we have not only a common enemy, but a common goal. What I need from you, is a fleet of my own. I need those ships to take Lannisport, to lay siege of my own. I do not need your bannermen if that is what you came to offer me."

It is then that Robb saw the corner of Stannis' mouth twitch ever-so-slightly, so fleeting that he thought he'd imagined it. His mother stood like a statue at his side, hardly breathing as she stood there, her defiant eyes watching him suspiciously and her nails still digging anxiously into his arm.

Stannis glanced slightly to his right, catching the eye of the woman who watched Robb so carefully and she nodded in some silent assent. Stannis pulled his hands over his chest, crossing his arm as he took in a long breath and then took a few steps in Robb's direction.

"I can give you ships, enough to take Lannisport, to tear Casterly Rock to the ground should you so wish," he offered.

"These same ships you need to take King's Landing. You would split your fleet?"

"No, certainly not my ships," he amended quickly. "I need my entire fleet to take King's Landing." Robb sighed in frustration. He was about to tell Stannis that he was leading them in circles, that their parlay was clearly only a waste of his time. But then, as if sensing Robb's patience dwindling, he spoke again. "My eldest daughter commands a fleet of her own, seventy-five ships and a thousand of my men under her charge."

Robb stared at the man for several moments before speaking. The numbers alone where more than enough, unstoppable if Theon was able to convince his father as well. But still he did not fully understand the Stag's offer.

The wind was harsh around them and he could feel the icy rain pelting his flesh like small needles. His mother's auburn hair blew wilding around her head. She glanced up at him and her eyes did not seem to offer any clarification to the proposal they'd just been offered.

Robb knew the offer was not as good as Stannis' perhaps wanted it to seem. Ships would aid Robb, as would the men, but there was no assurance that once the war was over, and Casterly Rock was won, that Stannis' fleet would not simply turn on him, the Northern Rebel, the Pretender King.

"I am not sure I understand," he admitted and even his mother wore her confusion on her aging features. "You want me to let your daughter command a fleet of your ships to aid my cause, and in return I support your campaign on King's Landing? What makes you think I can trust this alliance? That the moment we both cry victory your men will not have me in chains."

"No, Young Wolf. You misunderstand. As I have already said, I do not want your North. I am willing to sacrifice that for the greater good of these Kingdoms. I want an alliance. Baratheon and Stark have always been friends and it is time they finally sealed their friendship."

Though his words did not say it, Stannis' proposition was now clear. It was clear to Robb who felt his stomach clench as it had several weeks prior at the Twins, and it was clear to his mother, whose confusion had now morphed into a strong disapproval over her harsh downturned mouth.

"You cannot mean marriage?" she spoke, speaking what Robb could not. Her voice rose with all the frustration she had acquired, her fury finally breaking free in front of the Stag King. "Our family has no one left to barter. My daughters are held hostage at King's landing, my eldest son already betrothed himself to a Frey in order to take back the Riverlands. My younger son is paralyzed and will never walk again, let alone father children. Now you would have my youngest son, a boy of only five years?"

It was Robb's turn to grab hold of her, steadying her with his hand on her shoulder as she shouted, the emotions rising in her throat. But Robb knew that Rickon was not who the King had his eyes set on. The three figures in front of him all stared back, eyeing Robb hungrily.

"Perhaps you have not heard of my betrothal until now," Robb interrupted when he thought his mother might continue. "Once the war is over, I will take one of Lord Walder Frey's daughters as my wife and queen."

"Would you take your Frey girl over the future Queen on the Iron Throne?" It is the man next to Stannis who spoke next. "Stannis Baratheon is the rightful heir to the Kingdoms. His daughter will inherit everything."

"When I die," Stannis added. "Selene will lay claim to these lands. And as her husband and consort, so will you."

Robb didn't like it. It was an tempting offer, to be sure. But it would mean trusting a man who most likely murdered his own brother to ensure his succession. He thought of Jon then, of Rickon and poor Bran and how no crown was more important than their lives. The Baratheons were dwindling away, only daughters and bastard sons left to carry on their bloodlines. But soon their name would be dead.

No matter how hard Stannis fought to be King, he would never be able to reverse that unless he produced a son.

With a Baratheon as his queen he would have more power than he desired, more power than he could handle. The kind of power that kings were killed for. And he didn't want it. But he also could not refuse it without gaining a possible enemy. A meeting out of courtesy had soon turned into a careful line which he was balancing dangerously. If he wasn't careful, he could gain an enemy he could not afford.

He looked to his mother, his only source of guidance, the woman who had insisted he not take answer the invitation offered by the Stag. But they had come and a deal was in front of them. He just needed to know if should take it. He pulled her to the side, excusing himself from Stannis and his company and he held each of her shoulders in his hand.

"Mother," he whispered. "Even if I agreed to such a pact, I am bound by my pact to Lord Frey."

"You are right," she agreed. "I know Lord Frey to be a very proud man. Going back on your word may gain you a deadly enemy and we are in no place to lose the support we have garnered thanks to him."

"But you agree that Stannis is an even deadlier enemy?" he asked and she reluctantly nods.

"I am afraid of that woman," she admitted, glancing out of the corner of her eye where the woman in the red cloak stood with her head high, whispering to her King. "I saw the evils she can conjure. And I fear what that man would do to ensure his success."

"But he is the rightful heir," Robb reminded her. "While I do not agree with his tactics, I cannot deny that he should be on the throne, his birthright."

"Yes, perhaps he should. But the Baratheons have only caused pain for House Stark. Robert dragged your father into battle after battle until their youth was ruined. War changed your father, Robb. Do not believe that once this war is over that there won't be more battles, more uprisings that he will coerce you into. Once your blood is joined by marriage, your house with his, you will be his to control, King or not."

"And so I should refuse him?" Robb pondered in a hushed whisper but Catelyn did not answer right away. She had reservations, just as he did, about refusing Stannis and about the offer that was so close within their grasp. It was a risk. Either choice would be a risk.

She shook her head, not in disagreement but in uncertainty.

"You're honor is at stake here Robb. You must tread carefully. The decision you make will change loyalties. Your honor will be questioned," she advised, her hand on his cheek and for a moment he thought his decision had been made in those words. "But you sought out to avenge your father, to get your sisters back and to protect your home. If you want to win this war, you cannot do this alone. But I cannot make this choice for you."

And suddenly the decision was no longer as easy as honor. He had a duty to his father who died to preserve the truth, his sisters who were innocent pawns in the Lannister's sick game, and to his bannermen who had followed him loyally into battle again and again, who had named him King in the North.

He was the King in the North. It was time he started acting like it.

"What of Lord Frey," Robb questioned, his voice steady as he returned to stand before Stannis who seemed to be waiting, his expression no longer cold, but impatient. "How do I keep his loyalty if I go back on my word?"

"Lord Frey will find himself richly rewarded to his loyalty to both our crowns," Stannis replied. "I will see to that."

"And your daughter," his mother insisted quickly. "Is she a maid?" The question was one he had not thought to ask himself and he was thankful he had not had to. "My son and the King in the North will not risk his alliances to marry a sullied woman, no matter her status."

Stannis seemed insulted by the question, but also as if he had expected it. Though perhaps not in so many words.

"My daughter's maidenhead is her most guarded virtue. I can assure you, she is chaste and untouched," he answered and his mother seemed appeased by his answer. He wondered briefly if she had asked the same in Lord Frey's keep. He wondered if Old Walder's daughters had blushed pink at her forward question.

Robb looked down the hill towards a group of horses and their riders. Only a handful of his soldiers were gathered, watching carefully at the interaction between the two kings. The man on Stannis' left reached for a long sheet of parchment, rolled under his arm and offered it to his right.

"You will find all that my King promised in this contract," he spoke, his voice deep and deliberate. "Should you agree, your signature will bind you to the Princess Selene in your betrothal and we will move forward with a wedding on an agreed upon time at an agreed upon location."

"The wedding will be at your earliest convenience," said the woman, and Robb was surprised at the way her voice danced over him so easily. "We see no need to wait for the war to come to an end."

Robb took the parchment, pulling it out from its rolled form and glanced over the words as she spoke. There was an obvious reason they wanted to rush the marriage vows. They wanted to ensure that Robb did not find a better offer and choose to marry another stranger for the sake of this war. But they thought very little of him if they believed that was his character. Then again, he thought, perhaps that was his character now.

He took his time going over the document, taking it down to his own company and having each of his bannermen look over it for flaws, for chokeholds that would refuse Robb his right to rule the North once the war was over, once he was married to a Baratheon bride. But the contract was only straightforward. A marriage for an alliance. Stark men for Baratheon ships. A dowry a king would be foolish to refuse.

When he approached the king and his men, he motioned for a pen and ink and under the supervision of the four witnesses, he signed the betrothal contract, right above a neat and looped signature that read, 'Selene Baratheon.'

As he handed it over, he could not help his curiosity when he asked, "Why would she sign it without having met me, without knowing the terms which we have altered?" he questioned and Stannis glanced over Robb's name before wrapping it up carefully in his hand. Without looking up at him, he gave his answer.

"My daughter knows her duty. She knows what is expected of her. And she knows what is best for our houses."

It was as simple as that for the Stag King. Baratheon duty and Stark duty, compromised for the sake of the other. For the sake of this war. When he was sure Robb's curiosity would not afford more lost time or pointless questions, he motioned to his man who handed him something wrapped carefully in black cloth. He held it out towards Robb, pulling back the cloth as he did so to reveal a weapon, a dagger to be specific. It was a handsome dagger with a hilt made of solid gold. Black jewels and intricate designs covered the blade handle and Robb was certain he'd never seen its equal.

"A gift," Stannis says simply. "From your future wife."

Robb took it in his hand and let his fingers graze over the hilt. It was then he realized what this tradition was. It was often customary in Southern Houses for brides and husbands to share a kiss at the signing of their betrothal contract. It was a seal, a promise which he had only made through his mother's words at the Twins.

But this promise was not made with a kiss or with words. He did not gaze upon his bride-to-be as he pledged himself to her. Instead, she gifted him a most prized possession. And there he stood with nothing to offer her in return.

He looked down at his waist, as if something would materialize out of no where. But he had nothing, his sword and his armor, a small insignificant knife on his belt. He did not even have any adornments on his breastplate that he could pry off and give as a meager offering to a princess who would one day have jewels as far as her eyes could see.

And then he felt a small nudge and turned to see his mother pulling something off her right hand, a small piece of jewelry that he would recognize anywhere. A ring. It had once belonged to a Stark ancestor, he could not remember which one, at his own betrothal ceremony, his father had presented it to his mother.

"Mother, I can't-" he started to say but she grabbed his hand and placed it in his palm, wrapping his fingers around the silver band with the sparkling grey stone.

"Take it," she insisted. "You cannot send them back to your future wife empty handed."

She wore a small smile, a sad one as she tried not to glance down at the ring that had once represented something so important to her. She nodded once and then turned away and Robb felt guilt give way to a grateful heart.

He turned and presented it to Stannis. He stared at the item for many moments before nodding and his man reached out and Robb dropped it in his hand. He and Stannis stared at one another, each waiting for the other to react before Robb decided to make his first move and he reached his arm out to the Stag. He only hesitated briefly before returning Robb's sentiment but it was clear the man did not indulge in much physical contact. And so just as he was the first to reach out, Robb was the first to break away.

And a pact was made.

* * *

><p>AN: I hope you enjoyed the second chapter! I am trucking right along so far. Thank you to those of you who have left reviews, followed and even favorited already. And thank you to those who even simply took the time to check out my words. It's always greatly appreciated. Thanks everyone!


	4. Chapter Three

****| Chapter Three |****

* * *

><p><span>SELENE<span>

She had heard somewhere, from her mother maybe or perhaps her Septa, that rain on one's wedding day was meant to bring good fortune for a marriage. Most likely that the rain represented tears of joy as the Maiden blessed the union of man and wife.

Selene could not help but disagree.

She had been sitting in the small room for hours on end, listening to the rain as it came down in sheets over old building. Somewhere in the corner there was a leak that the innkeeper had remedied with a pot that was now nearing full. Everything was damp and cold and for a brief moment she could forget where she was, as if she had been briefly transported back to her home at Storm's End.

She eyed the hem of her dress with a frown, the gold fabric damp and sullied with the soot from the hearth. She had spent several hours next to it, pacing anxiously, then furiously, when time passed and still Robb Stark had not shown up for his own wedding.

Now the dress was ruined. If she hadn't spent so long having put the damn thing on in the first place, all the tugging and tying, she would not have had any qualms with the mud or the dress at all for that matter. But the hours had passed and still she sat and still she waited, the mud on her hem rising and rising like the temper she could no longer subdue.

Her impatience did not go unnoticed.

Shireen sat by the window, not distracted by the rain or the thunder that rumbled the walls. Her nose was buried in an obnoxiously large book, one that was almost too heavy for the small girl to lift in the first place. Selene watched her, trying to soothe her fury as it rose in her chest. The girl's eyes danced over the pages eagerly with excitement in her smile.

"Listen to this Selene," she announced with cheerfulness that the elder had not known in some time. "'_Balerion's fire was used by Aegon the first to forge the Iron Throne. Its black skull_,' Balerion's of course, '_was placed on the throne room at the time of its death_.' You never mentioned that the giant skull of the _Black Dread_ was in the Red Keep."

Selene felt warmth at her sister's words, as if stories of great beasts of old were the most important things she had to worry about this day. She rose from the edge of the bed where she sat and joined her sister at the window, looking down at the pages, worn and tattered of Shireen's favorite book.

"I only saw the great beast once, though I can hardly remember it now. When Uncle Robert rose to the throne, he had all the skulls removed and brought down into the dungeons. Uncle Renly brought me down there once. I think he had hoped it would frighten me to see such things."

"Does anything actually frighten you?" her sister asked, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear and Selene frowned at the sight of something dark on her right cheek.

"Who struck you?" she asked, feeling her temper rising once again and Shireen tried to pull her hair back over the small bruise.

"No one," she insisted. "Please don't fuss over it. This is supposed to be a happy day."

"This is most assuredly the unhappiest of days," Selene corrected. "Now tell me who hit you, Shireen. Was it mother?"

When Shireen did not immediately answer as she usually did, Selene knew the bruise had come from their mother. She stood quickly but Shireen's small hand wrapped around her own to stop her.

"No don't, please," Shireen begged again, more annoyed than anything at Selene's anger. "You know how she gets. She sees us only as living reminders of her incompetence."

It was true. All their lives their mother made them very aware of her disappointment in their gender. The woman's own inability to produce a male heir had driven her mad with disdain for her own children. As a child, Selene remembered every single one of her mother's miscarriages, all boys that would have been Stannis Baratheon's heirs. And after each was found stillborn, she would look at Selene in disgust.

"Father would not like it," Selene said sternly. "If he knew what she was doing-"

"Father has more to worry over than me," she reminded her older sister who only shook her head in frustration. "I can take care of myself. You may be brave, dear sister, but it is I who knows how to control my Baratheon temper. And I think that makes me brave too."

Shireen was only two and ten but she was already smarter and braver than Selene had ever been. They were different, yet so much alike in their demeanors that Selene often thought she was looking back in time at her own youth. But Shireen was right. Selene had never withheld her temper very well whilst her younger sister often kept it in check, hidden from their parents in a controlled and admirable manner.

She envied her that much.

She thought of Robb Stark and his tardiness and if she feared anything it at all it was what she might do when he finally did show up, if he showed up. She wanted to strangle him for keeping here her, strangle her mother for neglecting Shireen, a child who seemed not so much a child any longer. Selene always tried to mother her, but often times - moments like the present - she felt like Shireen was the one mothering her.

"I worry for you," Selene admitted and the surprise was clear on her sister's features. "Don't look so shocked, I do worry. I worry that when I leave you alone with that woman that she will be cruel to you. That my absence will only bring you pain."

Shireen closed her book then and set it beside her. She gripped both of Selene's hands in hers as she stared up at her sister with a grin that she most definitely had not inherited from their father. It made her wonder if her mother had ever been a happy woman. Even her memories, Selene could not conjure an image of her mother's lips curled back in amusement or joy.

"I will be strong, as you are. And you will write me as much as your duties will allow. Promise me," she insisted and Selene had never been one to deny her sister anything, especially a promise between sisters.

"I promise," was her whispered reply and she kissed her sister on the top of her head.

"And anyways, you will be much too busy to worry," Shireen reminded her. "You will have a husband to look after."

"Of that I am not so sure," Selene replied, allowing herself to laugh slightly in spite of her rage.

"He will take one look at you and fall in love," Shireen fantasized. "Just as Aegon the fifth saw Betha Blackwood and declared he loved her from their first glance."

"You read far too much, my dear sister. And our father would not take too fondly to hearing of your great love for stories of our Targaryen predecessors."

"We are blood relatives," she insisted. "The Targaryen bloodline is what gave our Uncle Robert claim to the throne in the first place."

"Yes but now-," Selene reminded her. "-we are in the Age of the Stag. Baratheon blood rules these lands. Do not forget your name, Shireen. _Ours is the Fury_, remember that."

Her sister nodded but it was clear she was no longer listening. She was back to her book and her nose buried in tales of heroism and romance. She couldn't fault the younger girl. There were days when Selene too had fantasized about the days of old and the dragons that roamed the skies. She told Shireen that now was the Age of the Stag but they both knew that era would be short-lived. Without a male heir, the Baratheon line would cease to exist. Their bloodline would continue only in the names of their husbands until the Stag was a house long forgotten, written into a book that was more legend than truth.

There was a commotion outside the inn, and Selene leaned over her sister to see a crowd outside in the rain. Off in the distance there were horses, she could barely make out the sigil, a grey banner with the head of a direwolf emblazoned upon it.

The King in the North had arrived.

* * *

><p><span>ROBB<span>

He was late.

So extraordinarily late that he wasn't even surprised when a stout woman with a frazzled expression came out of the inn, wringing her hands, and informed him that Selene Baratheon refused to see him.

Late for his own wedding.

Of course she was angry, he thought. But he wasn't overly pleased either. He shouldn't have to remind some childish girl that he was in the middle of a war. Battles took priority every time. He had men to keep alive and morale to keep from crumbling. She was lucky he was coming at all, he thought during his two day ride through what seemed like a never ending shroud of rain.

He was wet and cold and the first thing he wanted to do was take a hot bath and eat a warm meal. But no, he had to hear about the displeasure of a spoiled princess. He had made it to Pinkmaiden, at the agreed upon day. Sure it was dark by the time he arrived in the small inn on the corner of the village town. But what did that matter now?

He was exhausted and preferred to get the wedding over with as soon as possible. He had rode non stop in the rain for this woman, men laughing at his side, joking about the Baratheon beast he was to bed. They'd told him tales of her greyscale, how it distorted her face. He knew the stories were meant to worry him, which was why he didn't pay much heed in what they said.

But he had also never heard any tales of Selene's exceptional beauty. In fact, he knew very little of his bride-to-be at all. He knew Stannis Baratheon had two daughters, that his eldest one had been born before Robert's Rebellion and survived the Siege of Storm's End. Robb told himself it did not matter. That he had sold himself to the highest bidder and Selene Baratheon would be his wife for all his days to come. What did it matter what she looked like?

But he could not help but feel a twisting in his stomach every time they mentioned her distorted face and her childlike figure. The thought of the wedding night alone was enough to make his anxiety flare. He would vow his fidelity to his wife, he had always known this. But he had always thought his wife would be of his choosing, that despite his status he would find a woman of both beauty and of spirit. Never had he pictured himself here, on the edge of a village about to pledge his soul to a stranger. He wished they were in the North. He thought if he were home, in the comfort of Winterfell that he might feel more at ease than he currently did.

He stood in a room, fairly small, on the second floor of the inn. His only company was Stannis, his wife and Robb's mother. No one spoke as the fire crackled nearby and the thunder continued to roar outside the window. There was only silence as Robb tried to warm himself but his clothes were soaked through, something that was only exacerbating his impatience.

Selyse Florent was not a handsome woman by any means. But something about her demeanor commanded his attention. She eyed him curiously in direct contrast to her husband who seemed more preoccupied in the flames dancing on the hearth rather than the man who was mere moments away from marrying his daughter.

Robb almost spoke, but then thought better of it when he realized he had nothing of interest to say. His mother tried not to shiver as she stood in her wet garments, her dress soaked from hem to the clasp on her neck. But she was cold, as was he, and both were growing tired of waiting for this wedding they had rode two days to attend.

"If you would just let me talk to her-," Selyse began in a hushed mutter. Her voice was too harsh to whisper. "That selfish child-"

"Enough," he scolded in return, his whisper more concealed than hers had been but still loud enough that Robb and Catelyn exchanged silent looks. The woman shifted, impatiently when the door opened and in walked a small girl of rather small stature with her chin held high and half of her face discolored as he had heard it would be.

Shireen.

"Father," she spoke eloquently, her gaze meeting Robb's only briefly before walking up to Stannis with a bit of parchment in her hands. She then turned, and curtsied in Robb's direction.

"What are you doing down here?" her mother questioned, her tone stern and disapproving. "I was told you'd been sent to bed."

"Leave her be, Selyse," Stannis instructed and once again his wife shifted at her husband's scolding.

His eyes traveled quickly over the parchment and Robb watched as he sighed, sounding as frustrated as Robb felt, and then he excused himself from the room. Shireen, however, did not budge, even when her mother gave her a disapproving glare. She just turned and looked across the cramped room at Robb and grinned.

"Your Grace, it is an honor to meet you," she beamed and when she stepped towards him, Selyse placed her wiry fingers on the child's shoulder, pulling her back.

"The honor is mine as well, Princess," he replied, his tone emitting none of the agony he currently felt.

"Can we expect your daughter any time this evening?" Catelyn questioned towards the taller woman. Robb could hear the impatience in his mother's voice. She was reaching her limit.

"Your son, My Lady, has kept us waiting for some time. My daughter has been waiting all day for her groom. I think His Grace can allow her a few moments of her own, to refresh herself," the woman defended. He could not tell if it was kind what the woman was doing for her daughter, or merely her own agitation rising to it's limit as well.

"It might hurry things along if you were to-" the child started looking at Robb with a lifted eyebrow. He tried not to stare at the grey side of her face. "-maybe wash. A bit?" she suggested and Robb was sure he looked quite taken aback. "My sister has been waiting some time, after all, and did put forth the effort to look nice for His Grace."

"Shireen!" her mother scolded, aghast at her daughter's forwardness. "Leave us. Now!"

The girl grinned as she did as her mother asked, eyeing Robb's clothes and giving him a knowing look. He thought of Arya then and her mischevious grin and wondered if her suggestion was meant to be a hint at the reason for his bride's absence.

Catelyn looked at her son, and Robb caught her glancing over his figure and he thought he saw her grin as well a she cocked her head to the side. He looked down at his hands, noting that they were still filthy from battle. He could not see his face, but he assumed, from his mother's expression, that it was even less appealing.

"You know-," she whispered in his ear as she leaned it. "-perhaps the child has a point."

* * *

><p><span>STANNIS<span>

She was defiant and steadfast, a true Baratheon in her stature. Though she had the Baratheon hair and eyes, he had always thought Selene reminded him more of his mother. Though Cassana Estermont was renowned for her patience while Selene was always deterred by her temper. A Baratheon trait he shared, as had Robert.

But she would not falter as she stood there. Not for him, he thought. He leaned back in his chair, the small faded clothed chair that sat in the corner of the room nearest to the fire. When she moved her gaze to the window, Stannis took the opportunity to stare up at Davos who stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for instruction. _Convince her_, his eyes persuaded and Davos did not need further explanation before he stepped forward.

"Princess," he began. "We are all aware that Robb Stark has insulted you by arriving in the state that he has." It wasn't how Stannis would have gone about it at all. They all knew Selene's anger was not directed towards the Young Wolf's appearance. But it had not helped by any means. However, Selene did not scoff, as she might have to Stannis. Instead she stayed silent and let the man speak. "But we must also take into account that we have asked him to abandon his men, amidst his campaign against the Westerlands, in order to wed you, two days ride from where his army awaits his return."

"I am not a foolish child, Ser Davos," she reminded him, though her glance was directed at her father. "I understand the importance of his war. But had he simply had the forethought to send word, I would not have been sitting around in my wedding garments for an entire day, humiliated when the people announced Robb Stark had left his bride at the altar. And then, when he finally does find it in his interest to arrive, he intends me to wed and bed him while he is covered in filth? I apologize if you think my behavior naive, but I expected better of a man I have only heard described as honorable. Was I foolish to expect him to treat me as though he is marrying the future Queen to the Iron Throne? Instead he treats me like another obstacle for his war. What kind of ally will he be if he can't even be trusted to arrive to his own wedding in a timely matter."

Stannis would have laughed had he known how. His daughter was full of fire, that had always been apparent. But she was not wrong. Robb Stark was marrying the future Queen and his negligence of her had made him simmer with impatience as well. He pitied the boy king, knowing Selene's grudge would not be easily subdued.

"Some advice? If I may?" Davos asked and Selene took in a deep sigh, holding it tightly in her lungs before purging it out and nodding her head slowly. "Forgive him this slight. Start your marriage on a happy note. You and the boy will have many days to argue but your wedding day ought not be one of them." She was watching him now, her eyes focused on his eyes and his words, and Stannis watched as Selene's icy gaze started to thaw, if only slightly.

Davos placed his hands on her shoulders then and kissed her cheek. Stannis felt a pang deep within him somewhere and he glanced away. Davos had always been the only one who could reason with his daughter. Selene's bullheaded ways were always met with his own. And often, even through logic and discussion they would end up in a shouting match, one way or another. But with Davos she allowed his opinion to matter. Just as she would now.

Davos left the room then and Stannis stood so he was standing across from his daughter. Her eyes were lost in thought as she most likely was deciding if she should forgive the Young Wolf or not. But when her eyes finally focused, they met his and he thought the girl in front of him was no longer the stubborn daughter who had grown to be too much like him, but instead she was the child on the steps of the dungeon staircase at Storm's End, her eyes pleading with him to protect her. She was not just angry.

She was scared.

He swallowed as his chest twinged once again and he allowed himself to step closer until he was looking down at her. Slowly, he placed his hands on her arms and then wrapped them around her back, pulling her to him in one soft movement.

They were both stiff, neither moved as they stood there without words, neither used to the contact. He could not remember the last time he'd held her, not like he used to. Shireen still craved his attention, grabbed hold of him with her childlike spirit. But Selene had not been a child for many years. She had seen too much, been entrusted with too much. She had hardly been a child even in her youth.

But then, as if she that child once more, she placed her head against his chest and let her arms snake around him and grip him tightly. Once again she was his firstborn, prized and protected in his grasp. Selyse had spent so much time dwelling in her disappointment at failing to produce him an heir, that she had not realized how proud he was the day Selene was born.

She had been beautiful, pink-faced and wide-eyed and a temper even then. But she was his. Just as she was now. Soon to be no longer.

He placed his lips to the top of her hair, trying his best to memorize this feeling. And then he pulled her back. Her eyes were damp and she tried to avoid his gaze. But they soon sought his out for reassurance and he gave her a small nod. He wiped her eyes and held his hand over her cheek and wished he could smile for her then.

And then she was ready.

* * *

><p><span>ROBB<span>

At some point the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, so soft that it was like a mist that floated down from the clouds. He thought for a moment it was snow, and as he stood beneath the Heart Tree, he found himself smiling and thinking of home.

It had been Selene's suggestion, he'd been told by Ser Davos, when Robb asked why they stood beneath a weirwood. She had insisted that their wedding appease his Northern customs. Robb felt a rush of guilt when he'd heard this but thought perhaps this cold, impatient woman of his would be kinder than he'd initially expected.

He had only seen her briefly, through the rain and through a window at the top of the inn when he'd arrived and he could make out nothing except her disapproving frown. Now as he watched her approach, he was certain it was a different figure he'd seen. She was not at all scarred or afflicted as his men had warned. The closer she stepped, on the arm of her father, the more clearly he saw that there was very little flaw in her complexion at all. In fact, Robb found himself pleasantly surprised at her appearance.

There was enough light, provided by the torches held by his guards, that he could make out most of her as she came closer to his side. She was not an exceptional beauty, but she has many pleasing features. Her eyes were a dark blue, steady like her father's but alight with a spirit he was quickly becoming familiar with. Her lips were a faint pink, like her cheeks though she tried to hide it when she lowered her head.

He wasn't sure why the thought pleased him, that she might be anxious when she saw him. He could see she was surprised as well when their eyes met briefly. She had only seen him covered in mud and filth and now she was seeing him as Robb Stark, a man and not a soldier. He wanted to thank Shireen and so he smiled when he saw her not far from her mother's side and she did not bother to hide her own smile in return.

It was when Stannis and Selene were just before him that the Maester spoke.

"My Lady," the man said, his voice louder than his age might suggest it would be. "Is it true that you come here today under your own free will and accord?"

Robb could not help but look at his bride's reaction as she tightened her lips and nodded.

"Yes, it is true," she replied, her voice strong. Robb found it a welcome sound.

"With whom do you come, and whose blessings do accompany you?"

"It is I, King Stannis, of the House Baratheon, her father. And she is accompanied by the blessings of myself and her family."

The customs were of the North, and she could see the Red Woman standing off to the side with a slightly sour expression at the whole affair. He had heard of Stannis' new religion, a religion Robb knew almost nothing about. But it seemed as though Selene had very little concern for it and in fact from what little he knew of her, he could safely assume she might have chosen a Northern ceremony both for his comfort and to spite her father's new priestess.

"Your Grace," the Maester said then, looking in his direction and Robb took his eyes from his bride and glanced at the man. "Please cloak your bride and bring her under your protection."

Robb did as he was told, turning and looking only briefly at his mother's emotional eyes before reaching around her to where the Greatjon stood, cloak in hand and handed it to Robb. He was glad it was not wet and glad his mother had the forethought to wrap it up neatly when Robb had not even bothered to think of it at all.

Robb stepped towards Selene then, and draped the grey and silver cloak over her shoulders. She did not bother to even glance at him as he did so, simply lowering her head slightly and pushing her hair forward so the fabric would not pin it down.

Stannis moved then, pulling back his daughter's hair in a surprisingly tender motion before taking her hand and placing it in Robb's. Their eyes met, not just king to king, but father to the man his daughter was marrying. The sternness in his eyes was different this time, not quite a warning, but instead full of expectation. Robb nodded to him because it was all he could think to do. And then they glanced back at the Mester who smiled with kindness.

"Today we have come, in the sight of the Old Gods in this holy place, beneath the symbol of this Heart Tree, to bind this man and this woman, two households, in the sacred bond of marriage," he paused and Robb felt himself take a deep breath, aware of the fingers lightly laid across his palm. "Your Grace, is it your wish to take this woman as your wife, as your family and as our blood, and do you vow to the Old Gods to keep her under your protection until death does part you?"

Robb could feel the weight of this moment on his chest. The promise he had broken to Lord Frey, the risk he was taking in his alliance with Stannis. He could feel his mother by his side, supporting him and he wished only for his father, to see him there as well, smiling proudly as he had so many times before. But he was gone. And it was part of that which reminded him why this union was so necessary. He may have not wanted a wife, not in this way at least. Not yet. But with his vows he would be one step closer to avenging his father and protecting his people.

"Yes," he said finally. "It is my wish."

"And My Lady, is it your wish, to take this make as your husband, as your family and as your blood, and do you vow to the Old Gods to keep him and serve him until death does part you?"

Her hesitation was much shorter than his. And he was certain it was not so much her anger in him that gave her pause, but the words in which she was meant to agree to. They were different than his as they were for all women. And he could understand her distaste for them. But there was only a slight flicker of annoyance before she spoke.

"Yes, it is my wish," she answered.

The Maester looked then to Catelyn and then to Stannis who both, after instruction, took out individual lengths of silk. He watched as Stannis wrapped the silk ribbon of black and gold around Selene's hand and then Robb's. His mother followed suit, wrapping a grey silk ribbon over his hand and finally Selene's binding them together.

Robb stared down at her hand then, taking note of the ring on her finger that had once belonged to his mother and was now his gift to her. The jewel sparkled as the light of the fire flickered over it. He wondered off-handedly if she had noticed her dagger on his belt.

"Now, let you both say the words, your vows which will hold as your promise to one another and the gods."

That was the part where they were meant to turn and Robb felt a twisting in his stomach that had been there since he saw her. He had not noticed it until now, as their eyes met and he could see immediately that his apology would be needed before she would let down her wall of indignation.

"Do you know the words?" he whispered so only she would hear and she nodded. He swallowed, harder than he meant to and then he gripped her other hand in his. "I, Robb of the House Stark, King in the North and of the Trident-"

"And I, Selene of the House Baratheon, Princess of the Kingdoms of Westeros,-"

And then in perfect unison, Robb keeping their pace, they spoke together.

"-do take thee as mine own, as my blood and as my bone. Let my body belong to you, my spirit make us one. By the gods, I am yours and your are mine, from this day, until my last."

"Now, let you, this day to your last, remember that it is the gods who sanction this marriage and it is in their name and with their blessing that I do proclaim you man and wife. May your love endure that its flame remains a guiding like until you," the old man smiled fondly at the both of them and then turned towards Robb. "Your Grace, you may kiss your bride."

They were powerful words, words that he had never intended to speak unless he meant them. And therefore he knew he meant them. This woman was his wife and he would no longer see her as the bargaining chip between kings. He had vowed to protect her, to give her his body and his spirit from this day until his last. And it was a promise he would keep.

Her eyes were full of something very different as he leaned in, and he felt as if he was holding his breath as he placed his lips over hers. He meant for it to be quick, a chaste kiss that would not embarrass either of them before the large crowd of nearly fifty. But once he felt her lips pressed against his own, the soft flesh of their mouths bound as one, he knew it would not be such an easy feat.

He was not sure which one of them removed themselves first, or if they had done it at the same time, but soon her eyes moved away from his as the people around them cheered with excitement.

And when the cold mist replaced the warmth of her hand in his, he felt a sinking in his stomach that was foreign and he was certain it was a feeling that would live to plague him the rest of his days.

* * *

><p>AN: I am so pleased by the response I have received on this story already. I am beyond thrilled that you are enjoying reading it and I hope each chapter lives up to your expectations. Thank you and please continue to leave feedback as you see fit! Thanks, Lola.


	5. Chapter Four

**| Chapter Four |**

* * *

><p><span>SELENE<span>

She was expected down in the dining hall of the tavern below the inn, sitting next to her husband with a virginal blush and wine stained lips. But instead she was standing in the small room drying her hair and allowing her mother to help her dress.

It was an odd predicament. Selene had been surprised that her mother had come at all to the wedding with how little they had spoken since her return to their household. Selene was the first born child of her mother's womb and yet their interactions often made them seem like perfect strangers.

Not now, however, Selene noted as her mother tied the strings of the simple gown of grey silk. They did not speak to one another, the silence more painful than the woman's presence. They stood there, only acknowledging silent body language that instructed Selene where to step and when to breathe. And despite the tension that great between them, Selene would be lying if she said she hadn't hoped for a moment alone with her mother.

She wasn't sure how to say it, and Selene preferred to be a little more cunning with her words. But what she wanted to ask, she knew very little about let alone how to broach the topic to a mother who was as warm as a winter's storm. But she had no other options and she had once discovered when she couldn't figure out how to say something, the best tactic was always to just be blunt.

"Mother," she whispered and Selyse's hands tugged hard at the strings of the gown, causing Selene to suck in an unintentional gasp. "Mother," she tried again. "I was just curious, if you might explain to me-" she began, trailing off at the end when she started to lose her nerve.

She had hoped her mother would catch on to Selene's attempt at conversation, but the woman only remained silent for several moments as she configured a bow to keep her strings tied tightly together at the middle of Selene's back.

"It's just that-" Selene started when she thought her mother was deliberately ignoring her but she was thankfully interrupted.

"You want to know what is expected of you, at the bedding," her mother filled in. It was a dull statement, as if it were a simple question with a simple answer and Selene was foolish for not understanding it.

The fact of the matter was, Selene was already nearly two and twenty. She was somewhat older than the girls she had known in King's Landing, girls who were already with child for the second or third time. But despite her natural curiosity, she had never fully understood all things that went on between a man and a woman.

She was a stranger to sex, or at least not the idea of it. She of course knew how it worked, the mechanics of a man and a woman joined beneath the sheets. But she did not know the expectations a man had of a woman on their wedding night. She was still a maid. How could she be expected to know how to please a man when she had barely even touched a man?

"Very little, I assure you," her mother insisted, sitting on the edge of the bed and not towering over her daughter for the first time in a long while. "Your husband will take your maidenhead, as all husbands do," she began and already Selene felt as though she was sick with worry. "Your responsibility is first and foremost to be a willing wife. You might not please him the first time but ultimately make it your goal to see that your husband is pleased."

"And what, pleases a man?" she asked and she felt her cheeks grow hot. She cursed her naivety when it came to men. She was a strong woman, capable of leading a fleet of ships should it be necessary. But her knowledge of a marriage bed was sparse. "What is it that a man wants from his wife?"

"A man wants a submissive wife," her mother answered as if it were obvious. "Be willing and submissive, Selene, and you will indeed please your husband."

She expected something more, something, anything that would help her ease the anxiety currently pulsing through her veins. She was still angry, still insulted by the Young Wolf's actions from earlier that day. But knowing she would have to be with him, let him touch in a manner that she had never shared with anyone, infuriated her more. She had no desire to look foolish on top of it all.

Selyse cloaked Selene in Robb's marriage cloak, clasping it around her shoulders and adjusting the bottom so most of it wouldn't drag. It was still slightly damp, she noticed, but she did not want to start off her wedding night on an even worse insult.

"Not to worry child," she whispered, her hands on Selene's shoulders. "I have heard your young King in the North is as pure as you are. I have no doubts that it will be over quickly."

She didn't know if that was a comforting thought or not as she watched her mother leave the room. Selene pondered this thought as she followed, making her way down into the belly of the tavern where men were drunk in celebration and but mostly in wine.

Across the room, the man she was to call husband, sat at a long table, a vacant seat on his left where she was meant to sit. She felt her steps growing heavier and heavier the closer she came. Men would stop and stare at her for a brief moment before returning to their cups or their whores. Finally, it was the King in the North's eyes which traveled upwards over her new attire and let show a small grin in the corner of his mouth.

Her mother had said the grey would please him. It seemed it had.

He stood then, clumsily at first and then slowed his movements so that he was more poised and regal when he pulled the chair out from the table and helped her into her seat. She had never sat so close to someone during a meal, though she was in no mindset for eating now as she eyed the glass of wine in front of her. She knew better than to indulge herself on an empty stomach. But she also knew the calming effects of a good wine. Despite her protesting, she took the goblet in her hand and reached for the pitcher to pour herself a drink.

Her hand was met with Robb's, however, and she was startled by the contact.

"May I, My Lady?" he offered, raising the pitcher from the table, his eyes bright blue and questioning and she could not help herself as she nodded.

She watched as he poured her wine, the liquid almost too slow as it left it's post and fell elegantly into the goblet. He did not fill it to the brim, just about halfway as if he had heard her thoughts as loudly as spoken words. She nodded swiftly in brief gratitude and then turned her attention back to her cup which she then placed to her lips. He did not attempt to speak again until she had set it down.

"I have not yet had a chance to speak with you alone," he began and the sound of his voice was softer than she remembered. Her eyes stayed carefully trained on the food on her plate though she had no intentions of eating it. "It has been a long day, for the both of us, and I would like nothing more than to reconcile these tensions that have set us both on edge."

She liked the taste of her wine, she decided and the warmth that grew in her stomach with each subsequent sip. But she also found his voice warming, a deep Northern burr in his pronunciation that made it very difficult to keep her eyes focused steadily on the plate below.

"What I am trying to say, and rather poorly in fact," he continued. "is that I have wronged you with my insensitivity and arrogance. And I would beg for your forgiveness if you are willing to give it."

Willing. She remembered the word as her mother said it. And now Robb Stark was asking if she was willing. Though she was sure it had an entirely separate meaning in this manner. But she could hear it again and again. 'A man wants a willing wife' and 'if you are willing to give it'. His voice drowned out the awful passionless tone that belonged to her mother. Instead she could only hear him, asking for her forgiveness and she wondered if that would please him.

She _was_ supposed to please him, after all.

She allowed herself to glance up at him from behind her cup and he grinned when she set it down and his eyes caught sight of her stained lips. His hand twitched slightly, as though he might reach out and attempt to wipe her lips with his thumb. But he paused, an action which relieved her greatly.

She still didn't know how she felt about Robb Stark's proximity to her and his apology still did not erase the lingering anger she felt towards him. She certainly was not ready for him to touch her, not so soon after their intimate encounter beneath the weirwood. No, she decided. She would keep her distance from him until she was forced to touch him again. She realized the irony of it all. The night was already leading them both in a very obvious direction and it seemed nothing, not even her nerves or reservations, would bring time to a halt.

The moment came where she was supposed to forgive him. She could see his expression, awaiting her response, real words directed at him for the first time that weren't their wedding vows. But the more she tried to conjure words of forgiveness and grace, the longer she sat there, trying not to fold under his river blue eyes.

Ser Davos had said to forgive him. To start their marriage on a happy note. She thought of her father and mother and could not remember a time when either of them had been anything but miserable. Their constant bickering. They hardly ever even glanced at the other. She did not want that. He may not have been her ideal husband, but he was her husband all the same.

She subdued her Baratheon temper as she opened her mouth to speak.

"I am, in fact, willing to accept your apology, Your Grace."

His hand twitched again, but stayed put as it had before.

"You don't have to call me that, Selene," he said, his voice low. "You and I are equals and I should think it only fair that we treat one another as such."

She felt her brows furrow at his words and she knew she must have looked more surprise than she had intended. But she was, in fact, taken aback by his statement. _Equals_. She had never thought she would marry someone who would consider her an equal in anything. Men were proud creatures, she had learned, but Robb Stark was already proving to contradict everything she knew about men, however little that was.

"Yes," she agreed, perhaps too eagerly.

She felt her cheeks flush and she cursed her body for reacting so quickly to the wine. She quickly tried to hide it by looking away, towards the crowd of men where no one seemed to notice them at all. It was late and Shireen had been sent to bed shortly after the ceremony. Her father was seated at a table with her mother and Lady Stark, none of whom seemed to be enjoying themselves or making any sort of eye contact.

Eventually she spotted Ser Davos, not bothering to take part in the alcohol induced stupor that had consumed most of the room. She willed him to look her way, for many moments, waiting for him to glance up from his boredom. When he finally did, she saw him smile and she did not know it was what she needed until the relief washed over her. She had not wanted this, and yet it had happened to her. Now she must make the best of it, he would tell her.

But she would need courage, she decided, reaching down for her goblet which was now very nearly empty. But before she could lift it, she felt a hand over hers, stopping it from rising. She glanced at it, the calloused palms, the fingernails which still were embedded with dirt despite the scrubbing he must have done to try and erase it. She could not force herself to look up at him until their contact had ceased and he pulled away.

"I know this is not what either of us wanted," he started and she allowed her gaze to meet his. "I cannot claim to know anything about being a husband. And I do not know what the future holds, how this war will end or what could befall you for simply being my wife," she was glad to hear that he struggled to say the word 'wife.' That this was no easier for him that it was for her. "But I did not speak those words tonight in vain. I may not have vowed to love you but I did vow to take you as my family. And I will do all in my power to be a good husband to you. I will struggle and I think we both have proven today that patience may try us in many ways. But know I would never hurt you - not with any intention, anyway."

It was a pretty speech and she knew now why his reputation was that of an honorable man. Robb Stark had married the daughter of a man who could destroy him. She had no great beauty and had very little warmth. He had taken a wife who he did not love and perhaps never would, so that he could avenge his father. A heavy price to pay. She felt her fingers curl under her palms when she briefly considered letting her fingers touch his which were so very near.

She wanted to promise him the same things, that she would try to be a good wife. But she did not even know what a good wife was. How could she conscientiously make such a vow, knowing that she could break it so easily? Robb seemed like a man who would not be appeased by a simple nod of acknowledgement. But she certainly did not like the idea of admitting her shortcomings to anyone, especially a stranger. She sighed, conflicted. The only thing she had learned about being a wife thus far, was that she was meant to please her husband. And despite her discomfort and reservations, she knew what might please him now.

She tried to appear confident.

"Thank you," she said first and it sounded too stiff even to her own ears. "I think perhaps, that while neither of us had any intentions of ending up in this position, that we can agree that our mutual goals are one in the same. Although you and I harbor no feelings for one another, as you previously said, I think we should not force ourselves to try to be something we simply are not for the sake of expectation. I should think both of us would feel more comfortable with a slower approach. We should be partners, first and foremost. If we ever plan to run these kingdoms, our two thrones with any success, then a partnership between you and I is the most important thing we can nurture. I will concede that I know very little about marriage. But I do know something about partnership and trust. And if you value them as strongly as I do, then perhaps that is as good a place to start as any."

The chatter in the room seemed non-existent to her then. The roar of the drunken laughter and clanking pints were no longer a distraction. Her heart was wild, pounding in her chest as she thought over the words she had just spoken and she was sure she sounded as cold as she sometimes felt. She was suddenly very embarrassed as she watched his reaction, his eyes focused on her for many moments, too many in fact, before cleared his throat.

"My wife, the politician," he laughed, amusement in his voice and she felt as though she was being laughed at. Instinctively she began to shut back down.

"I have offended you," she whispered curtly, turning her head to look away but his fingers pulled her chin gently back towards him.

"No," he argued quickly, shaking his head. "On the contrary, your words, I must admit, comfort me." Her eyes widened slightly. "Here I am, trying to figure out what is going on in that head of yours, thinking of words that would ease your mind of our responsibilities, and yet it is you and your logic, reminding me that our responsibilities are what tie us together, that have put me at ease instead."

"You are not displeased?" she found herself asking and he shook his head.

"Not in the least," he replied.

It was a strange feeling that took over her then, as if a heavy weight had been lifted off her chest. She had pleased him, put his mind at ease even. It was a small accomplishment, but one that had at the very least dissolved some of the tension that had been walled between them.

Of course that tension very quickly returned when she saw Lady Melisandre approaching their table and both she and Robb visibly tensed at the woman's intrusion. Her dress was unsurprisingly a deep color of red and her bright hair fell elegantly over her shoulder. Her lips were curved upwards at either end, a very staged smile Selene recognized now as the one she used when trying to seem polite. She held her hands out in front of her and bowed her head very slightly before speaking.

"Your Grace," she spoke then, a title she had only ever heard the woman direct at her father. This time it was directed at her. "I have been instructed to prepare you for the bedding ceremony."

Her nerves returned swiftly then, like a kick to the stomach. She did not know how to act now. Her so recent interaction with her husband had ended on a civil note, almost pleasant even, and now once again her mind was reeling with anxiety. This was the part she could not avoid with evasive words. She could not deflect what was going to happen, or postpone it with a childish tantrum.

Now was the moment she was not prepared for.

She stood then, unable to look back at Robb or the expression he might be wearing. She didn't want to see confidence in his eyes when she felt so vulnerable, so weak and uncertain. She feared her own reaction.

Each step came too quickly, the Red Woman's pace much too fast. She saw the men stand, raise their cups in the air and shout out in excitement. She held her head high amongst the words spoken at her and about her. She could hear their drunken insinuations, votes of confidence that she better please the King.

The bedding chambers were nothing glamorous. She had seen the small room earlier in the day and she felt underwhelmed to say the least. But when Melisandre opened the door, she was met with a very different room than she remembered. There were candles, lit upon every surface of the room that had been previously vacant. The windowsill, the mantle and the hearth were decorated with various sizes of white wax candles that had only slightly started to melt.

By the hearth there was a small table and a fur rug that had not been there before, pillows strewn across the floor as well as if the inn were magically transformed into her chambers back home, though significantly smaller. She didn't want to acknowledge that the woman had put forth the effort to make this a more comfortable experience for Selene, but when their eyes locked momentarily, she could not help but nod in gratitude.

"I thought it would make it easier," Melisandre whispered with a smile, leading her in and shutting the door behind them.

"I don't know that anything will make this easy," Selene answered and she tried to hold back the disdain she felt for the woman when she said it.

"Come by the fire, child," she beckoned.

There was a small bowl of pearly white balancing nicely on a table nearest to the fire. A cloth dangled over the side of it which Melisandre took in her hands and doused in the water inside of the bowl. Steam rose slowly and Selene felt instantly warmer at the sight of it. Since being here she had felt only cold.

Selene stood in front of the fireplace and let Melisandre undo the ties of her dress. She didn't like it, sharing this moment with the woman she had sworn to loathe. But at the same time she felt more comfortable now than she had with her own mother earlier that evening. The dress came off easily and Melisandre held it steady as she urged Selene to step out of it, followed next by her dressing gown.

Nakedness had always felt foreign to her. Selene enjoyed the warmth a dress provided, and very rarely found herself naked in anyone elses presence, even her own. Her maid had perhaps been the only one to see her without clothes since she was a babe. But Melisandre did not seem disturbed by her bare skin, nor did she seem distracted by the horrific scar down Selene back.

Selene held her arms across her chest as Melisandre took the cloth to her back, the hot water soothing the chills that had risen across her flesh. The smell was soothing, some sort of perfume or oils that accompanied the cloth. She did not ask what it was.

"You need not be modest with me, child. In my culture, we are very accustomed to the naked body," she informed her but Selene did not move her arms from their spot.

"In our culture, we are not," she reminded the woman who only laughed softly.

"Is your body you fear," Melisandre questioned. "Or is it your scar?" Selene visibly stiffened. "Apologies, I have never been a master of subtlety."

"It is an ugly scar," Selene whispered. "My mother told me to keep it hidden as not to encourage disgust in my suitors. I cannot help but agree with her."

It was a jagged crease that ran from her shoulder blade down towards the middle of her back. She had only dared to look at it a few times in a looking glass, appalled by its ugliness. She did not know if the alternative would have been any better. At least now she did not bear a mark that many deemed unclean.

Shireen had not been so fortunate. A back could be hidden beneath shifts and gowns. A face was the first thing anyone ever noticed. And she hated that her sister had to wear it while she could keep hers hidden away. Her mother had tried to fix it, given the Maester permission to experiment on Selene whilst her father was away. The result was to cut it out.

"You underestimate your beauty, Selene," Melisandre told her, turning her towards the looking glass in the corner of the room. "The Lord of Light does not think it vain to appreciate his own creations." Selene opted not to roll her eyes at the woman's comment, but she did not bother to respond either.

Selene mostly avoided her own reflection. She rejected vanity whenever possible. But as Melisandre pulled her dark hair over her shoulders, forcing Selene to take in her bare flesh from head to toe, it was clear her youthful figure might be appealing enough to satisfy her husband. Much better, of course, than the rumors he had most assuredly heard.

Her breasts were not very large, she noted, perhaps just adequate enough to fill each of her hands were she the kind of woman to check. But her hips were wide enough, curving elegantly from her waist, a quality men often craved in their wives as a sign she was ripe for bearing heirs. She tried not to let her eyes linger too long as the woman finished washing her and began plaiting the hair at her temples.

The knots in her stomach were agonizing, pulling at her with every passing moment. She glanced up at Melisandre, who was indeed breathtakingly beautiful. She had seen the way her father had looked at her, almost as if he worshiped her and while the thought angered her, Selene wondered if there was something she could glean from the mind of a woman like her. Her mother had been little to no help at all on the matter. And while she did not like Melisandre, it was obvious the woman did not waste time with discreetness.

"What is it like?," Selene blurted out before she could change her mind. "-to...bed a man?" Melisandre's hands paused as she glanced at Selene's face in the reflection. She then reached for a thin silk dressing gown hanging over a changing partition and held it out in front of her, motioning for Selene to lift her arms.

"Is this not a discussion your mother would have had with you?" she asked and Selene was already regretting she asked. Melisandre's tone was triumphant, as if she had information to offer that was so valuable that Selene would put aside her displeasure long enough to seek it out.

She let the nightgown fall over her head and hang off her shoulder slightly.

"My mother has taught me nothing on the subject," Selene admitted. "When I asked her the same question, she told me that a man wants submissiveness in a woman."

"I expect she is not completely mistaken," was as close a compliment to her mother as Melisandre dared conceed. "Though, if that is all they receive, then my dear I would not expect your husband to stay in your bed for very long. A king will find that most women would be submissive to his advances." Selene felt herself swallow uncomfortably, reassured that she really did know nothing at all.

"Then what am I do to do?" she asked cautiously. "I do not want to drive him away." Melisandre smiled.

"Child, you are lucky. Men like Robb Stark put more effort into pleasing their wives than you might expect. If you are pleased, he will - in turn - be pleased. However, your husband cannot please you if you are not open to it."

Somehow the conversation only increased her nerves.

"How can I be expected to desire intimacy from a stranger?" she asked heatedly. "I am not certain that I can enjoy the company of a man of whom I know nothing."

"Selene, you are a woman," Melisandre reminded her. "You may not have known a man before, but you cannot tell me you have not thought of it. Have you not imagined it? Making love to a man to appease the lustful desire deep within you?" The words made Selene shift uncomfortably. "With young Allard perhaps?"

"Do not speak of him." Selene meant it as a command, but it was a whisper.

"Then perhaps think of it this way. Your husband is a handsome young man. I suspect he is inexperienced if at all. But regardless, I think you will be surprised at how much he will please you. The first time is never comfortable. But do not take that as the measure of all love making. He will do everything in his power to make sure you are comfortable. All you must do is let him."

Selene considered this words and found that despite the discomfort of talk like this with a woman like her, she found them surprisingly more useful than her mother's overall dismissal of the topic.

There was noise now, rising up through the floorboards and then up the stairwell and Selene knew it was time. It was not long before Melisandre crossed the room, ready to open the door for the spectators who would want a glimpse of the bride before her bedding. But the woman stopped, just before she reached the handle and looked back at her with a smile.

"And Selene," she said, her voice firm. "End this grudge that you hold against him. He is a king and who has just won a great battle. You should praise him for it. He will make you a good ally if not a good husband. Do not hate him for doing his duty to his people. Men like Robb Stark will always place duty before love."

Selene wanted to argue that she was Robb Stark's duty as well, that his duty to his army did not necessarily outweigh his duty to their alliance. But she did not speak as Melisandre's hand closed around the handle and the door opened and then closed behind her.

And for a very brief moment she was left alone and she suddenly felt very much like a child. She realized then that this would be the last time she would feel this way. And so, before the door opened, she took one last moment to say goodbye.

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><p><span>AN: Just a brief cliffhanger because this chapter was getting a bit lengthy and I wanted to keep most of the chapters around the same amount of words. I hope there was a bit of an awkward vibe going on for most of this chapter because let's be real here, Selene and Robb have just met and they have spoken barely any words to each other before they are pronounced man and wife. I had hoped this gave it a bit of a mix of lighthearted and discomfort. I wanted to paint Selene as very conflicted here, not because she finds Robb to be more attractive than she had expected, but because she is both nervous and defiant. I hope it came across how I wanted it to, if not, please feel free to say so. I am anxious to know what you guys think about this chapter and I will get writing the next one right away. I don't want to leave you hanging for too long...thanks, Lola.


	6. Chapter Five

| Chapter Five |

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><p><span>ROBB<span>

He had spent nearly an entire day on the battlefield once, wielding his sword and striking down foe after foe; yet he could not remember a day where he had been so exhausted as his wedding day. The hour was beyond late and he had travelled much too far for far too long to get here at the agreed upon date. But he knew his responsibilities were still not complete.

_Wed your wife, then bed her good_, his men had teased before his departure, the morale high from their recent battle at the Oxcross. He had been in too high of spirits at the time to think anything of the words. But now, as he climbed the stairs, a hoard of drunken men and his mother by his side, they were the only words on his mind.

He had never been with a woman before and he felt as if that fact alone might be a disservice to his wife who was more nervous than she cared to admit. He could see it in her movements, her stiff voice and obvious fidgeting. Not to mention her attachment to her wine goblet.

He found it all very calming, despite the frustration he had felt for her upon his arrival. She had been cold and unnerving at first, looking very regal in her gown and her lips pressed tightly together. She was very much a queen in her demeanor then. But at the feast, she had been a young woman and he a young man, both of whom had no idea what was expected of them. For that he'd been grateful. She did not look at him with disdain for what they'd been forced into. Instead, he felt as though she was a mirror image of what he tried desperately to hide.

Simply nervous.

He had always hoped for a warm wife, one with a kind smile and a soft touch. It wasn't that Selene wasn't warm, exactly. How could he blame her for her reservation of him, a stranger? He couldn't expect more of her than he had already taken. He thought of the bedding then, and the guilt he already felt for making this such a public affair.

It had taken much convincing on his part, and the part of his mother, to ensure the privacy of the ceremony was left to Robb and his wife alone. Neither of them needed a reminder of the pressure placed upon their shoulders. Stannis had at first objected, wanting certain proof that the marriage would be consummated through the testimony of witnesses. But Robb had refused.

He stood at the door, ignoring the shouting and excitement at his back. Stannis was the first to open it, followed by Robb's mother and then Robb himself. There was only a short moment where the door was left open, so that the mass behind him was able to witness that both Robb and his bride were in fact present. The Maester that had wed them was the one who closed the door and the room was suddenly much quieter than it had been moments before.

There were words spoken, traditional words that meant very little to Robb other than ceremony. They were not meant to be of any comfort. Simple and official. Stannis and Catelyn both spoke, an answer to a question Robb did not hear. It felt like an eternity of words as he stood there, glancing towards the fire and taking in the warmth of it for as long as he could until he heard the click of the door shutting behind him.

He turned, the room that was once occupied was now empty aside from him and Selene. They were alone for the first time. It was not until then that he allowed himself to look at her. He was surprised to find that she was already looking at him as he did so, her round blue eyes meeting his with the same nervousness he had seen downstairs from behind her wine cup.

He was not sure what he had expected when he arrived in the wedding chambers. He felt guilty as he glanced around briefly, unable to take his eyes from her too long. He didn't know why, but he was angered by the setting, embarrassed that this woman was not given better. It was his own fault, he realized. He had been too busy, too impatient and too careless to think of anything except his own displeasure at the whole arrangement. He had given no thought to how this would be for her.

He wanted to say something, anything that might ease the awkwardness of this room and what was going to happen next. But nothing came to mind. He was a king and yet he felt so very much like a child. His cowardice was creeping up inside of him as he watch her shift her weight from her left foot to her right. It was only then that he noticed her attire, her thin shift of silk and lace that left very little to his imagination. Her feet were bare, and her toes curled slightly on the damp floorboards and he knew she must be cold.

He walked over to her, grabbed her hand in his despite the look of protest she started to give him and he lead her over towards the fur rug and the fire. He did not like that she was cold, her womanly body reacting to the chill in the drafty room while he pretended not to notice. Indeed, he stood there with his wife and pretended not to notice her breasts or the way the milky flesh of her shoulder seemed to glow with the light of the fire dancing off of it.

It took a clearing of her throat for him to realize he was still holding onto her hand, gripping it more like, and he very slowly let it drop back to her side. She didn't like to be touched, he was gathering that much. Unfortunately for them both there would be a great deal of touching before their night was over.

"I was told you won a great victory in the West and that is what delayed your travels," she spoke, and he was glad for it. She did not sound bitter as she said it. In fact, she sounded more enthused than she had at any point in their previous conversation.

"Yes, but the story is rather dull. I would not want to bore you," he admitted but she shook her head.

"I assure you it would not," she insisted. Intrigued by his new wife's sudden interest, he indulged her.

"There is a village, some three days ride from Lannisport, called Oxcross. I had received word that Lord Stafford Lannister was training men there, more recruits for the Lannister army that we partially defeated in the Riverlands. I had no way of reaching the encampment without engaging with the strongholds on the border of the western territories. By then we would have had no advantage whatsoever." She sat down in the chair as he spoke, hanging on each word as if she were painting a picture for herself in her own mind. "We thought we were stranded outside the border, that I would have to hold off any offense until I could receive ships either from your father or Balon Greyjoy."

"Balon Greyjoy?" she said, a scrunching her nose slightly in a way that he found slightly amusing. "I do not wish to suggest that your strategy in treating with the Ironborn is in any way misguided, but-." She paused then, taking a deep breath and shaking her head, more to herself than to him. "Apologies, please, continue."

He wished she had continued, but her expression said she would not interrupt again. He made a note to bring it up at another time to see if she would express her opinion more freely.

"I was actually preparing to leave for my journey here when my direwolf, Grey Wind, discovered a path on the outskirts of the borders that was not on any maps we had in possession. He led us right through the lines under cover of darkness and the Lannister camp was taken completely unaware." Selene seemed oddly impressed.

"Your direwolf found a hidden path?" she asked, soundly only mildly skeptical. He nodded. "Clever fellow," she whispered to herself more than to him.

"Yes, he is."

"Do you always take him into battle?" she asked curiously and again, he nodded. "Is he here now?"

"He's outside the village, with some of my men. I did not think it wise to bring him into the inn," Robb clarified. "He does not always take to strangers well."

She looked as though she was going to say something else then, but thought better of it and her mouth dropped. The awkward silence returned as she sat there and Robb wished he had stretched the story a bit longer, if only to see that look of intrigue in her eyes once more.

"Your father's ships-" he started to say but her voice interrupted.

"_My_ ships," she corrected and it was his turn to look fascinated by this discovery.

"Your ships?" he asked and she tilted her chin, proudly.

"_My ships_, were gifted to me four years ago, upon my seventeenth name day. I may be a mere lady, Your Grace, but I assure you my knowledge of maritime warfare will exceed your expectations."

Any tension within him was dwindling as she spoke, the confidence in her voice a more relaxing sound than the uncomfortable silence that had once hung in the air. He now recalled Stannis mentioning that the fleet was his daughters, but at the time he did not understand the implication.

"Tell me about your ships," he asked softly, out of genuine curiosity, and selfish prolonging of the inevitable. He sat down across from her as she began talking, listing off names and models of each of her ships in the fleet that she commanded under House Baratheon.

He found her manner of talking to be different than most ladies he knew, which were in fact few. But Selene was the daughter of the man who was once the Master of Ships, a man who was now a king. His fleet was one that should be feared. Robb should not have been surprised by her knowledge, but he was. Her intellect was almost intimidating and he felt that his anxiety was replaced with something new though it was a feeling he could not name.

She filled a cup with wine as she talked, handing it to him as she described an encounter she had once had with pirates in Shipbreaker Bay as a young girl. She sounded like she was telling some story from a book, about adventure and suspense. And in that moment he had forgotten this was his wedding night and his sole responsibility was to bed a woman he had barely known for a few hours.

But the time did finally come and it seemed to hit them both like a weight against their shoulders as her stories died down and an imminent and heavy silence filled the room. He did not want her to feel obligated to make the first move. So he walked away, towards the only surface not covered in candles, and unclasped his cloak, lying it neatly on top and began removing the rest of his outer clothing.

It felt nice, getting out of clothes that he had not realized until then had been damp. When his boots and doublet were stacked over his cloak, he spotted her watching him anxiously. Her breaths were deep but staggered as if she was attempting and failing at keeping them steady. She even tried to hide her fingers which were fidgeting with the hem of her shift. Robb prolonged his movements for as long as he could without looking ridiculous. But the moment came when he was standing in in his breeches and a thin linen tunic and both knew they could no longer put off what they were both there to do.

She took a deep breath before standing and her steps were slow and not at all as confident as she was trying to make them seem. She stopped in front of him and Robb noticed for the first time that she was fairly tall for a woman. He barely bent his neck down to meet her eyes and they searched his for answers he did not have, instructions he could not give.

He wasn't sure if he should touch her at first, but when he felt her breath near to his, he could not help himself. She only flinched slightly when his hand touched her arm, her skin warm against his palms from beneath the thin shroud of silk she wore. She did not move away from him or indicate in any way that she wanted him to let her go.

He did not pretend to be oblivious of her body this time when he glanced down at her, taking in the way the fabric fell over each of her curves. He had decided when he first saw her that she was a fairly handsome woman, much to his surprise. But the more he looked at her, watched her movements, he decided that she was more than handsome, pretty actually, in a way he could not explain. He did not just feel obligated to touch her, he wanted to. He wanted to feel her skin under his fingertips and watch the gooseflesh appear as he did so. He wanted to know how her body would react to his. To know _her_.

But he also did not want to frighten her and so he did not let his eyes linger for too long before he led her towards the bed. It felt cheap, leading her to the spot where he would take the one thing that ought to belong to her to give at her will. But she did not resist, in fact she was the first to sit on the bed so that she was looking up at him in a mix of anticipation and impatience.

He almost laughed at this impatient wife of his, wanting to postpone their bedding and now wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. He wondered if she would always be this way, a fickle wife with her fickle mind. But he was not so sure that he would mind if it was. His amused thoughts were interrupted when she undid the tie at the top of her nightgown and he placed his hand over hers, keeping it in place before the dress fell from her shoulders.

"You don't have to," he whispered in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "If you wish to keep it on, that is."

She seemed surprised by this, as if it were a new revelation she had not previously considered She did not need to remove the gown for them to complete their obligation. And so, when he moved his hand from hers, she held the shift together by it's ties and loosely tied them back together. He didn't have time to feel disappointed. She was right to be impatient. They were both tired, he remembered and perhaps the only way to get through this was to let it end as quickly as possible.

He did not need to tell her to lie back as he started pulling of his breeches and she diverted her eyes when his tunic followed the linen trousers to the floor. The furs had already been pulled back and beneath her was a plain white linen sheet and under her halo of dark hair was one simple pillow. Both of them were likely used to better accommodations. Back home his bed did not creak or feel brittle under his weight.

But this arrangement was not meant for sleeping. It was meant for their consummation. A consummation between royals on a straw bed with stratchy linen sheets and one pillow. She shifted uncomfortably as she waited for him and he wondered if it was her nerves or the bed that caused it.

Once his clothes were completely removed, Robb realized he had never been naked in front of a woman. He wished she would look at him, at least to reassure him that she was not displeased by his appearance. But even when she did look at him as he crawled over her, she did not meet his eyes. Instead, her eyes were trained on his chest, specifically at the scars he had most recently received in battle.

She sat up on her elbows as she studied them, her brows furrowed in concentration and her mouth down turned into a frown that reminded him too much of her father. And he watched, curiously as she lifted her hand slowly as if she might reach out to touch him. Robb held himself still, his hands on either side of her and waited. But her fingers paused a few inches from his skin and then recoiled, curling under as she pulled them back to her side.

He didn't realized he'd been holding his breath then.

"You really are a warrior, aren't you, husband?," she whispered, barely audible but he felt his stomach leap at her words, the way her voice sounded in awe as she examined him.

He was not sure what prompted him to lean in towards her, covering her wine-stained lips with his own, but there was something about her eyes and the weariness in her once stern voice that sent him into a haze. _This was it_, he told himself and could feel her body stiffen beneath his at their contact. It was bold of him, and he knew that even as he allowed his lips to continue to move over hers, letting his fingers graze the skin of her shoulder as he did so.

Their kiss ended when he pulled back and he saw only confusion in her eyes. He wished it was love, it would have made it easier for them both. He wanted to love her then, wished he felt something other than pity for this woman beneath him. The neck of her dress, which hung down over one shoulder, was now pushed down slightly so that he could see the top curve of her breast. He watched her chest rise and fall as she tried to control her breathing, to no avail, and he cupped her face in his hand.

"Please don't be scared," he whispered to her, and perhaps to himself, but it seemed it did not comfort either of them. It was a foolish request to ask of her.

Her heart was racing when his hand moved down over her hip. He rose the fabric, soft underneath his hands, until he felt the warmth of her flesh replace the silk gown. She flinched at this but she tried to hide it as she pretended to shift slightly. He did not acknowledge it, knowing she would not want him too. She closed her eyes as he touched her, as if willing herself to stay still under his fingertips. The thought made him frown, that his touch displeased her. But he did not remove his hand nor did she ask him to.

He did not need time to ready himself. He was not sure if it was the wine, or the sheer closeness of her naked flesh that aided in his arousal. Perhaps it was both, he thought. The wine gave him the confidence to look down at her milky thighs beneath his hands. The sight of them pushed together, clamped tight told him she was still not ready for him. She needed coaxing before they could be together. And he found that he didn't mind giving that too her.

He placed his lips back down by her face, her eyes still closed in anticipation, and it was clear by the small intake of air through her lips that she had not expected him to kiss her neck. He traced his lips down her shoulder, over all the bare skin her nightgown would concede. Her skin smelled divine, a mixture of slight perspiration and some sort of perfume.

His hand traveled higher as his mouth continued it's work over her throat, touching the soft edges of her hips and then the taut flesh of her stomach. He felt her body rise slightly as if to meet his own and his heart began to race with is own anticipation. He did not reach any higher for fear of how she might react. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her when she was so close to trusting him.

The heat between their skin rose from a dull warmth to a heat that caused his own skin to dampen. Her breaths became shallower when his fingers hovered over her ribcage, just beneath the underside of her breast. And the movement was so sudden he did not seem to notice that her thighs had parted until she felt one of her knees graze against his bare hip.

A sound involuntarily escaped his throat and his eyes searched for hers, for permission or acknowledgement but they were still closed when he came up from her neck to find them. He looked at her, saw her cheeks were pink with something that was not embarrassment and her skin glistening slightly above her brow and he thought perhaps he had done something right.

"Selene," he whispered, his lips nearly touching hers but her eyes did not open. Her lips quivered briefly, reacting to his closeness, but still her eyes remained shut. "Selene," he tried again. "Look at me."

She wanted to be defiant, he could see the resistance in her. His patience was dwindling as he felt her squirm underneath the weight of him and he knew he could not wait much longer. But he needed to see her, need to look at her and make sure she was ok. And she did open them, when his lips caressed hers in one simple motion and he watched the blue orbs appear from under her long dark lashes. He asked for permission without words but with his glance.

"I am ready," she tried to say but it was strangled slightly, trailing off into a whisper. "Get it over with." Her facade was failing. He could see a tear fall from the corner of her eye and he stopped to wipe it away with his thumb. Another did not take it's place.

"Let me know if you want me to stop," he instructed and he thought he saw her nod. Their gaze did not break as he entered her, as slowly as he could. Her nails clutched his upper arm and she could not stop herself from crying out briefly.

He stopped though his heart was pounding and urging him to continue, because he could see her discomfort as he moved. But when his movements paused, she shook her head in protest. She did not want him to stop and so he did as his lady commanded. He pushed deeper inside of her until he could not go any further and he let out a long breath, a strangled groan. He was ashamed that he felt so much pleasure whilst she was in pain. But his brave wife did not say a word as he then moved inside of her, as slowly and gently as his agony would allow.

Her eyes closed only once or twice, until he watched her relax under his movements. Her hand was still clutching his arm, her nails now digging into his flesh as he kept his thrusts steady and even. He felt her move once or twice, instinctive movements that only made keeping a slow pace more difficult.

He wanted to tell her it was almost over, that he could feel himself coming to the end. But he couldn't speak in words, just heavy pants followed by a whispered apology when he thought he heard a smothered cry of pain. She had turned her head away from his, hiding her face in the crook of her arm. He moved quicker now, trying to end her anguish. He could hardly breathe, burying his face into her the damp flesh of her shoulder.

He could not contain the sound that left his throat then when he found his release, muffled into her skin as his body pulsed involuntarily. He stayed there a while, long enough that he realized he must have been crushing her though she stayed perfectly still.

He rolled off of her when he was unable to lift himself with his arms. The bed was much smaller than he'd thought. He could not help that their shoulders touched as he tried to steady his breaths. She was on her side when he finally turned to look at her, her body facing away from his. He reached out, placing his hand on her arm but she flinched away from him. He didn't try to touch her again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair.

He was met with silence, the room flickering with candlelight. He waited, for what seemed like an eternity before he heard the steady breaths that indicated she was asleep. Then he too let himself rest, closing his eyes as the lights grew dimmer and dimmer, until the darkness finally took over.

* * *

><p><span>SELENE<span>

She thought, perhaps, that she would feel different when she woke that morning. But she didn't.

The sun's rays barely crept into the window of their shabby wedding chambers and she realized she had been awake for hours. She had hardly slept, waking up at one point in the night, feeling the heat of a body next to her. It had startled her, feeling his chest against her back and for a moment she had forgotten what had transpired just hours prior.

If she was honest with herself, she felt almost exactly the same. Relieved, of course, but still the same person she had been the day before. She was happy for it, happy that she did not feel changed in any way except for the slight throbbing between her thighs. It wasn't so bad, she thought. She had endured worse from an all day endeavor on horseback. It was nothing she could not handle.

She did not wait for someone to wake her, rising from the bed slowly as not to wake the sleeping figure on her right. He did not seem to stir as she rose, and she only glanced down for a moment. Even in the dim morning light she could see the evidence of their consummation. Stained on the sheets was the last remnants of her youth and she turned her head away, ashamed at the sight of it. All the anxiety and discomfort had been for something so small.

She wanted to wash, but felt embarassed to do it when her new husband, a stranger still, was so near. She saw the partition in the corner, not affording much for privacy but it would do well enough for her short task. She soaked a clean cloth in the water, rubbing it over her her skin. She shuddered at how cold it was and whispered an expletive through her chattering teeth.

She dressed quickly, pulling on a simple dress with a cloak over her shoulders to keep her warm. A brief pass by the looking glass in the corner reminded her to fix her disheveled hair. There were too many knots and she did not have the patience to comb them all out and so she hid them in one long plait over her shoulder.

She did not look back at Robb as she left the room.

Outside the door, she found one of her father's guards, Gyff, and a young man she recognized to be Robb's squire. She knew him to be a Frey, and yet his demeanor was that of a smile when he bowed to her, even before her father's man caught on himself.

"Your Grace," the Frey boy greeted with a kind grin. Gyff, in contrast, did not speak at all. "We have been instructed to inform Lady Stark and King Stannis of your departure of these chambers.

Of course, she recalled. They needed to witness the marriage bed to see that they had accomplished their task. She simply nodded.

"Is my presence required?" she asked and the boy shook his head.

"Er, no Your Grace."

She turned then to Gyff, a man she had known nearly all her life.

"Gyff, find my father and tell him I will break fast with my sister," she informed, her voice steady.

"Yes, Princess," he agreed.

She started to walk away towards the stairwell when she paused, an afterthought. She glanced back at the Frey boy.

"And please inform my husband, we he wakes, of my whereabouts," she instructed, attempting to say the word as naturally as she could. He nodded his acknowledgement.

With each step away from that room, she felt lighter. She could breathe easier when she found her sister in the dining area, ignoring the cheers and knowing glances in her direction. Shireen smiled when she spotted her. She was sitting with her Septa who had a scowl haggard face, holding Shireen's book hostage until the child ate the meal in front of her.

"Selene," exclaimed Shireen, trying to rise from her place at the table but Septa Moude held her arm to keep her in place.

Selene sat down by her side. Only a few moments passed before a plate was put in front of her and she had not realized until her stomach growled at the sight of it, that she was hungry. She could not remember the last time she had eaten.

"I'm sorry I missed the feast last night," Shireen apologized. "Mother told me it was no place for children. But I wish I could have seen you dance with the King in the North at least once."

"There was no dancing, Shireen," she told her sister who looked disappointed by the revelation.

"None at all?" she asked and Selene shook her head, cutting a piece of meat and savouring the flavor as she placed it on her tongue. "At my wedding there will be much dancing," she said matter-of-factly. "I will dance until my feet are sore."

"I should like to see that very much," Selene indulged. "I can assure you nothing exciting happened in your absence."

"It sounds utterly underwhelming," Shireen replied, disappointment in her eyes and Selene felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a small grin which she concealed quickly.

"You are perceptive as always, my dear." The warmness dwindled slightly as her sister turned her eyes towards her plate.

"Father is preparing the horses for our departure this morning," she whispered and thought Selene knew this was coming, she could not help but feel as though a new type of worry was pulling at her. She could only nod.

She had nearly forgotten what would happen after the wedding. This brief escape from the reality that war was waging around them had been distracting enough that she only now remembered she would be leaving her family and joining another. Shireen would return to Dragonstone with her parents whilst Selene would travel to Riverrun with her husband. There the two kings would prepare to return to battle.

Her ships were safe at Seaguard, protected under a secret pact her father had struck with Lord Jason Mallister, a strong Baratheon supporter after the events of Robert's Rebellion. When Robert's death shifted the line of succession, Lord Mallister kept his promise to guard the fleet in the Riverlands. This fleet, which was so precariously placed now with the Iron Islands lying directly between their path to Lannisport. She would travel to Seaguard from Riverrun when her husband returned to the Westerlands and she would prepare her fleet for battle.

How much of this plan her husband was aware of, she did not know. But it was why she had been so interested in his treating with Balon Greyjoy. She had forgotten that Lord Eddard had taken Balon's only male heir as his ward, a boy who would have grown up in the North instead of the harsh ways of the Ironborn. Even with that revelation, she believed the envoy would fail. Balon Greyjoy bowed to no king, certainly not a Stark.

"I'll write to you," Selene promised. "Once I arrive at Riverrun and I'll tell about everything I see. And by the time you arrive back at Dragonstone, there will be a stack of letters so high you get sick of hearing from me."

This seemed to please her sister who beamed back at her with both sadness and joy. Selene had been anxious about the wedding, but she desperately feared what might happened when she left her sister to her mother's protection. She knew Shireen was brave, and so long as her father was near that she would be safe. But what she feared most was the war her father was ready to wage on the crown. A war that was viewed as a usurper's rebellion to many still loyal to Joffrey's claim.

If her father failed, the safety of her sister could not be guaranteed. In fact they would want to ensure that the traitor's issue was not a threat as well. They would extinguish any possible rebellion for the future. If her father did not succeed at restoring the succession, Shireen would be slaughtered.

Selene would be safer, she thought angrily. Though her wedding to the King in the North would be kept secret as long as possible, word would eventually get out at the Young Wolf's alliance with the Baratheons of Dragonstone. And it wouldn't be long before they would hunt her down as well.

"My Queen," someone whispered from over her shoulder and Selene turned to see her maid, Aida, holding her riding clothes. "I have finished packing your trunks onto the carriage as well as ensured that your mare is being prepared for your journey."

"Thank you, Aida," she replied. "Have my father and Lady Stark finished their inspection of the wedding chambers?" she asked, lowering her voice and the girl blushed slightly but nodded.

"His Grace, your husband, has also instructed that I send word that he wishes to see you before departure."

"Please tell His Grace that he can speak to me for the rest of his life, should he so wish it, but that I will spend the remainder of my time in Pinkmaiden, with my sister." The girl seemed taken aback the request and the tone at which it was expressed. While Selene's voice was low, her tone was much harsher.

"Selene!" Shireen hissed from beside her. "If you wish to avoid him, please do not use me as an excuse." Selene felt like a child being scolded. "You forget he is your husband."

"And you are my blood."

The two girls sat there, eyes locked and neither willing to concede to the other. Selene did not appreciate being ordered about just because she was now someone's wife. But she could see Shireen was not going to allow her elder sister's temper to succeed. She groaned, a concession that caused Shireen to grin wickedly and Selene stood and followed Aida up to her chambers.

Glancing over her shoulder she saw her sister's triumphant smile as she reached for the book across the table, this time dodging her Septa's attempt to slap her hands away. It was Selene's fault the child was so bold. She had created a monster.

This time she could not hide her own smile.

She amusement to herself, however, as she climbed the steps, reaching the top to find Lady Stark closing the door to the bedchambers. She stopped, her smile instantly fading from her lips. She politely curtsied for the woman whose blue eyes then caught hers. She was a lovely woman, her auburn hair burning bright in the light of a nearby window. She was some years older than Selene, but the woman still held an air and beauty about her that she found intimidating.

"Lady Stark," she greeted and the woman eyed her carefully before responding with a curtsey of her own.

"Your Grace," she replied curtly and did not give Selene a chance to speak again before descending the steps and leaving Selene alone with her maid outside the door she had never wanted to enter again.

Aida opened the door but Selene walked in first, spotting Robb immediately sitting on the edge of the bed that was now stripped of it's reminders and for that Selene was relieved. He was pulling on his boots, only dressed in his trousers and tunic. She remembered her riding clothes in Aida's hands and the partition that was of little use. She walked over to it, signaling Aida to follow. She removed her cloak, stringing it over the thin screen for some extra privacy. It allowed very little.

"You wished to see me, Your Grace?" she questioned, her voice sounding bitter even to her. She handed her dress to Aida as she slipped out of it. Aida, in turn, handed her thicker linen underdress to wear beneath the rest of her attire.

"You were not here when I woke," he replied hesitantly and Selene thought it was a curious thing to say. "I did not hear you get up."

"You'll find I am a light sleeper and used to waking before most others," she explained as Aida held out her riding dress and Selene stepped into it without losing her balance once. The dress was made of wool, slightly scratchy, but it would keep her warm. "And I did not wish to wake you." It was an honest answer. She had not wanted to wake him but not so much as a consideration but rather to avoid this very conversation.

"I had thought I could speak to you alone?" he asked her.

"Is that necessary?" she countered and she could hear him sigh.

"Yes," he insisted.

Aida's fingers stopped moving through the ties to the dress and Selene looked back to see her maid's conflicted expression. Aida had never much liked confrontation and often cowered when Selene's temper flared. Even now she watched Selene carefully. Selene grudgingly nodded, taking hold of the ties in her hand and watching her maid retreat quickly out the door.

As it turned out, she was stuck behind the curtain, her dress only done up half way. She could not reach around to finish them herself and so Robb Stark had unknowingly trapped her in a very compromising position. She could hear his boots against the floor, his steps coming closer in a manner that caused Selene to reach out for the nearest thing to cover herself.

"I am not yet decent," she protested with wide eyes when she thought he might come behind the partition but his steps stopped.

"I gathered as much," he replied as if it had been obvious. Perhaps it was.

"What is it you wished to say?" she asked, her voice less confident as it was before they were alone. She could hear him shift the weight from one leg to the other and she wondered why he was so anxious. Did he want her here alone so that he could have her again before they departed?

"When you were gone this morning, I didn't get a chance to you make sure you were alright," he admitted and she felt herself stiffen slightly.

She had not expected him to ask after her condition. In fact, she had expected him to have a triumphant grin on his face as men patted his back and congratulated him on his conquest. Instead he had summoned her to inquire after her well being?

"I-" she began and cleared her throat. "I am quite well, Your Grace. And how do I find my husband this morning?"

"Not _quite well_," he answered irritably, mocking her own words. She was surprised at his sudden change in temperament. Her stomach sank at his words and she wondered if she had failed at pleasing him the evening before. "I wanted you here so I could look at you and-"

He paused, mid sentence, his stride so quick that it startled her when he emerged behind their barrier and she jumped. He did not stop until he was standing mere inches in front of her and she felt ridiculous as she held her dress up by it's strings. He did not seem to take note of her appearance at first. His eyes only sought out hers and she saw that they were both full of frustration and the same concern they had emitted the night before.

"I needed to see you," he repeated. "I needed to see for myself that I had not harmed you."

"Harmed me?" she asked, confused.

"When we-" he trailed off. "I wanted to be gentle with you and I am afraid I might have failed."

Her cheeks were hot under his gaze and upon hearing him speak of their intimacy the night before. He was as uncomfortable mentioning it as she was, but his expression read more as concern than disappointment. He reached out for her hand and took it in his, ignoring her flinch at their contact. He pulled her closer to him so that she was forced to bend her head just slightly to look up into his eyes and then he swallowed.

"I know last night was difficult and awkward and foreign. It was equally those things for me as well," he told her and it was this admission that surprised her the most. She had heard her mother and Melisandre voice their suspicions of her husband's virginity, but never had she believed it to be true. She remembered the word 'difficult' and she felt her eyes fall.

"Did I displease you?" she asked and she immediately wished she hadn't. It sounded weak and foolish.

"Displease me?" he asked in confusion. "Selene nothing you could have done would have displeased me."

When she could not find the words to continue, she stood there, looking away uncomfortably as she pondered the pained expressions he wore the night before. They had been ingrained in her memory and had thought at the time that he was angry with her inexperience. She had felt embarrassed at her body's reaction to his touch, her squirming and loss of control when all she wanted was to lie still and let him help himself to her until he had finished.

She felt herself being turned, and she was not sure what was going on until she felt him fumbling with the ties of her dress. At first she thought she would protest, thinking he was undoing them. But as the bodice tightened around her frame, she realized it was just the opposite. He was slow and cursed under his breath when he would drop one of the strings.

"I have very little experience with dress strings," he whispered and his breath was warm on her neck.

"Yes, I noticed," she found herself saying. She was glad she was not facing him. He might have seen the way her eyes closed involuntarily as his thumb accidentally grazed over her neck.

His hand slid over her shoulder, down her arm until her hand fell into his and he lifted up, inspecting the ring that was settled neatly on her center finger. He ran his finger over it gently, letting his fingers linger over hers for a few moments before placing it back at her side. She waited for him to move back but he did not. He just pushed her braid over her right shoulder carefully, as if it was so fragile it might break from mere touch alone.

"I will do better for you, next time," he promised her, his voice next to her ear.

All at once his heat disappeared, as if it was never there at all, and she could hear from his steps that he was making his way across the room. He gathered his things, continuing on with packing up the few items he had brought along with him. She was frozen, standing there without any idea of how to commence after their encounter, after he had stood there and tied her dress and spoke of how he would be the next time he took her in his bed.

All the while she had completely forgotten there even would be a 'next time'.

* * *

><p><span>AN: I normally prefer to write the smut scenes (not that I'd call this smut exactly) from the OC point of view, but I thought I'd try my hand at giving it a little Robb perspective. First time and all, I felt like it had to be awkward all around. But of course there was a little of something else, though I don't think either of them realized what that was - being first timers. This chapter got lengthy, but I A) didn't want to rush the consummation and B) wanted to add a little bit of Selene's reaction to it all. End Result - she's trying her best to forget about it because she has no idea what is even going on with her own body, let alone his. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. This will begin moving forward with my next one. Thank you so much for all the support, the PMs and the reviews as well as follows and favorites. You all seriously rock. I especially am glad that you guys like Selene (my fickle little OC) and the Baratheon & co. characters that I've added as well. Not many stories focus on the Stannis plot, but I am hoping I am doing it justice. I'm shutting up now….Lola.


	7. Chapter Six

**| Chapter Six |**

* * *

><p><span>ROBB<span>

The journey to Riverrun was a short one. The weather had afforded them a much needed ease to their day long ride through the Riverlands. They stopped only once, to rest the horses and themselves. Robb had tried to allot more time for stopping, for the sake of his new wife, but Selene had been the one to insist they move forward. It hadn't helped that his men gave her skeptical glances when Robb had announced a break only a few hours into their journey. Embarrassed, Selene had immediately urged they carry on.

It was the only time he had spoke to his wife all day, he realized when Riverrun was within sight. It was as if he did not exist upon leaving their wedding chambers. She had hardly even glanced in his direction as if the simple act of even an accidental meeting of the eyes would be too much for her to bear.

She simply rode with an ease of a woman who had ridden all of her life. Of course she had, he reminded himself. He often forgot Selene's status, a woman who was was raised knowing there was always a slight chance she might have to take the throne one day. It was only a slight possibility, a possibility that was now no longer out of reach. It was an inevitability.

Stannis had designated a number of men to stay on as her guard, a healthy lot of men who seemed to have known the Baratheon Princess for most of her life. She commanded respect in her demeanor. A simple glance from her would silence them if needed. And it seemed as though they received more glances, though they were of a severe nature, than he did.

He hated that it bothered him so much. He had spent the morning apologizing for putting her through pain. And all he received in return was a cold shoulder. He could not help that it infuriated him slightly. He thought he had seen a brief moment of vulnerability when they spoke, standing behind her partition with her tired eyes and concern that she'd displeased him.

Now things could not have been more opposite.

"She's avoiding me," he whispered to his mother who rode at his side.

Night was falling and the sight of Riverrun on the horizon, it's torches flaming against the dark sky, was a welcomed sight.

"Give her time," his mother instructed. "You can hardly expect her to acclimate so quickly. Give her space to adjust. She hasn't forgotten her place."

"How much time was it before you and father warmed to each other?" he asked her although both lowered their eyes at the mention of him. The pain of his loss was too fresh in their minds, and yet it was also the reason they continued to fight each day.

"Your father and I barely had any time together before he went off to fight in Robert's war. I was left in Riverrun while he helped defeat the Mad King. I did not see him for a year. And by then we were still strangers. Of course I was a bit preoccupied with you," she admitted, a half smile on her thin lips. "He had gifted me something so priceless that I could not help but feel some bit of gratitude towards him. It took time, but we grew to respect each other, care for one another and eventually love."

"But I may never love this woman," he thought he had said to himself but from the reaction of her features it was clear he had said so aloud.

"It does not matter if you love her or not, Robb," Catelyn replied sternly. "She is your wife and you will honor her because one day, she will be the mother of your sons and your daughters. And even for that alone, you will find love for her."

Robb looked towards Selene as she rode in the dark, Baratheon men on either side of her. He tried to imagine her as a mother, a kind smile and affection for her children. But he could not see it. Selene hardly tolerated affection towards her own person. How would she be able to stand the touch of a child? Would she be as cold as her own mother, dismissive and harsh?

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!" one of the guards on the wall shouted and Robb glanced up towards the heavy gate as it lifted slowly, granting them access to his mother's ancestral home.

The courtyard was still in disarray from when he'd departed last. There had been little time to reconstruct what had been destroyed during the Lannisters' attacks on the Riverlands. But still, his grandfather was hospitable enough to find warm beds and food for their brief stay. He was anxious to return to his soldiers. He had found himself comfortable among them, more comfortable than he did under the gaze of his own wife even.

He sought out Selene as he dismounted his horse, men were crowding around him, unloading wagons and gathering the horses. He spotted her easily, standing nearest to the carriage she had refused to ride in upon his request. She wasted no time in directing her staff, instructing them on which belongings to remove and where to send them once they were. She stopped only for a moment as a man Robb recognized as his grandfather's steward relayed a somewhat lengthy message and then returned to the castle with a deep bow.

He pulled his gloves from his hands as he approached her and watched how effortlessly she handled it all. Each of her men carried something, in a line as they held it under the torchlight for her further inspection. Aida, Selene's ladies maid, emerged from the carriage eagerly awaiting instructions. It was as if everyone had learned a coordinated dance that he was not privy to.

"My Lady-" he began and Selene's head spun in his direction with a determined expression. She did not allow him to offer his services and instead started pointing out many of his own trunks that he had not, until now, known he even traveled with.

"I was told by the steward that a few of my things from Dragonstone have already arrived. My ladies, namely, and a dozen or so of my staff. I was told chambers have been prepared for our arrival but I should need to know if you would prefer your own so I can have your things properly delivered." She spoke quickly, as if his presence were a distraction she did not want but he was still overwhelmed by the whirlwind that was his wife. A side he had yet to see.

"I-" he began, unsure. "I am sorry, My Lady, for my hesitation, I am not familiar with all of this…" he motioned to everything she had previously pointed out. "What is all of this, exactly?"

"Gifts," she replied simply with no change in her expression. "My father and many of his lords have seen fit to send us off with some gifts in celebration of our union."

"I do not think we are in much need of gifts during war, Selene," he told her with a frown, thinking what could he possibly need with candelabras or silks.

But she seemed to pick up on his distaste with frivolity and she halted two of her men who were side by side carrying a rather large trunk. They set it down on the ground, per her instruction and she lifted the bolt and then the lid, slinging it back roughly and revealing the gifts inside. He was taken aback at what he saw, trunk after trunk as she stopped her men and opened each lid. Much to his surprise, they were full of supplies for his men. Armor, furs, medicine. These were all items they would be in need of desperately, especially when laying siege to Casterly Rock.

"Do these gifts displease you, Your Grace?" she asked, trying - though not too hard - to hid the triumph in her tone. "Should I see that they are sent back?"

"No, no," he answered quickly. "But do relay our gratitude."

"Yes, Your Grace," she replied, motioning for her men to carry on with their appointed tasks and he thought for a moment she would grin. "Now, about your chambers-" she began again and Robb took the opportunity to gain back the upper hand.

"Have my things sent up to _our_ chambers," he instructed and was pleased when she looked slightly taken aback. "I would spend as much time with my wife as I can before I depart for the front."

She cleared her throat and then her voice was much lower and far less victorious as she said, "Of course." She then looked to Aida. "See that my things are moved into the King's chambers. And have the servants draw His Grace a bath."

"And a hot meal, perhaps, My Lady?" she asked and Selene shook her head.

"Just see to the rooms, Aida. I will take care of the rest. I must speak with the cook to ensure the men have full bellies before bed," she directed and Aida merely bowed her head before heading off towards the keep. "Oh and Aida!" Selene shouted after the girl who turned quickly upon hearing her name. "Do see if someone can find Angus, will you? I do long to see him."

"And shall I have him sent up to your rooms, My Lady?" Aida asked and Selene simply nodded and returned to her work, leaving Robb to wonder who in Seven Hells was being sent to his wife.

Robb could see he was no longer needed nor was his presence desired and he therefore he turned to set out on his own, but his movements were paused by a startled scream and a loud thump in the mud. He glanced back down where his wife once stood and was instead greeted with the sight of Selene face down in the mud with Grey Wind the direwolf standing just to her right. It only took him a moment to work out that Grey had knocked her over and she had been sent flying, unbalanced, into the mud that was now covering half of her face

Laughter erupted from the men, both Baratheon and Stark, as he bent down to help her and she slapped away his hand, her eyes wild with fury. She wiped back her hair, pushing the mud away from her mouth and eyes. She only slipped once as she tried to stand but managed all on her own, despite the laughter surrounding her. She held her head high, despite her shock when she spotted Grey standing nearby, watching her cautiously.

He did think to intervene, that he might need to show Grey that Selene was not an enemy and thus should not be treated like one. But while he was not overly fond of her, he did not seem to find her a threat because he only stood his ground, watching her wipe the mud from her wool dress. She then placed her hands on her hips as she looked down at the great beast and shook her head impatiently. And then, as if she had know the wolf all her life, she pointed away from her and in a stern voice commanded him to go.

And even more surprisingly to Robb, Grey reluctantly obeyed with only a slight grumble as he did so. It was then that the laughter stopped.

* * *

><p><span>SELENE<span>

She had done her best to keep busy since her arrival at Riverrun. It kept her mind off of everything she was now without, all the things back at the inn in Pinkmaiden where she'd rode off without a glance back.

It only hurt to remember now, but she couldn't help the final images of her sister in tears, or Ser Davos' reluctance to let go when Selene had hugged him one last time. Even her father had lingered much longer than she had expected, standing nearby in silence as he contemplated his choices. But it was much too late now, she reminded him in a whisper when she kissed his cheek and his hand lingered over hers as she did so.

And then she was gone.

Each step her mare took in the opposite direction felt like torture, like part of her heart was being ripped out of her chest and all that was left was the shell of this creature, this woman who was cold and unfeeling. This woman no one seemed to like. And she didn't blame them.

She knew it was supposed to take time to heal after something that felt so akin to loss. But Selene didn't have time for such a transition. And so during the hours and hours upon horseback towards Riverrun, she forced them further out of her mind, focusing only on removing the agonizing sadness that ripped through her.

Upon arriving, she found ways to keep her mind occupied. It was late, and most of the castle's household was long to bed. But Selene had much to do before she could settle herself or her mind down for a night of rest. Robb tried to insist that she leave the work to the house staff, or to their own men. But she ignored the order, as she did most, even when she was half covered in mud thanks to his wild beast of a direwolf.

Eventually, when she was content with the state of things, she allowed Aida to escort her to her rooms where a once warm bath awaited her next to the fire. Aida offered to help her wash, but once Selene spotted her husband buried under furs and dead asleep, she sent the girl off to her own chambers for the night. Angus, her rather large Stormland wolfhound, barely lifted his head to see who was intruding, but once he saw it was her, she was surprised to see his disinterest as he laid his head back down on the edge of the bed.

Once the door was closed behind her, the restlessness seemed to fade, slightly. It was replaced with an uneasiness as she realized that she was alone with Robb once more. She wasn't sure how she felt about the situation. On one hand, he was her husband, the person with whom she had shared more intimacy than she had - and would ever - share with another person. But on the other, he was still very much a stranger and the very thought of bathing in his presence still made her shiver with apprehension.

She let her fingers graze the water as she passed and was surprised that it was still as warm as it was. No doubt her husband had taken her advice and spent some time in a much needed hot bath. However, with as warm as it was, she realized he must have only just fallen asleep. She glanced over to the bed once more to see his eyes closed, the furs pulled up to his waist and his mouth slightly open as he breathed steadily.

He seemed to be asleep, or at least she hoped he was, as she began peeling off her layers of mud-ridden clothes. Each layer was stiff and damp and she struggled more than she might have if she weren't constantly worried that she would blink and he would be standing there, watching her with hungry eyes. Or worse, disgusted eyes.

She tried to push that thought from her mind as her shift fell to the floor and she quickly stepped into the bath, submerging herself as much as she could into its depth. There was not much water, she thought. It was foggy with previous use and came only up under her breasts, leaving them exposed to not only the chill in the air but also wandering glances. She peaked back and her husband's eyes were still shut and his breaths still steady.

She kept her movements still as she washed, trying to make as little noise as possible. She tried to make quick work of it, but the fact was after a long day's journey, the water against her skin was the remedy she had not known she had been craving. A tray of bath oils sat next to the basin and she didn't bother looking at which one she grabbed before she poured it into the water and over her skin. She was not picky. In fact, had she not been thrown into the mud she mightn't have bothered at all. But she shared her bed now and it was the least she could do to be courteous about her hygiene.

When she felt rejuvenated just enough that she was ready to crawl into bed, she reached for her nightgown which was carefully strewn over the chair just close enough that she could strain to reach it. Her fingers reached the hem of the thin garment though she could not wrap them around it enough that she could tug it over to her. She glanced up to see if Robb was still asleep and when she found that he was, she lifted herself just slightly enough out of the water that she could grasp the shift and pull it too her.

But when the shift came, the oils came with it, several small glass vials falling to the floor and shattering upon impact. She recoiled at the sound, stiffening as the noise echoed loudly throughout the room and this time when she glanced back at her husband she saw him standing, half naked with a dagger in hand as he searched alertly for an attacker that did not exist. In its place was a very foolish woman, holding a thin dress over her wet skin that now glistened in the firelight and she could not have been any more mortified.

"Are you alright?" he asked quickly, scanning the room and realizing the noise had only been the clumsiness of his own wife.

"Just an accident," she answered quickly, still standing with her calves submerged in the bath whilst she tried to cover the rest of herself in vain. "I was trying so intently to be quiet that I managed to do quite the opposite."

Robb lowered his dagger, a dagger which she quickly realized was once her own. He placed it down at the table on his bedside, and lit a candle so that he could see better. She wished he hadn't. But he placed it down near her and grabbed a robe that must have belonged to him. He placed it around her shoulders, not letting his eyes linger longer than what was appropriate and then helped her, despite her protests, out of the tub.

She cursed herself then for looking so incompetent in front of him, especially after she had done everything in her power to look independant and strong during their journey here. She did not want him to think she needed him, that she was too weak to take care of herself. And now she probably looked more vulnerable than ever, pink cheeks and an expression that was most likely akin to one of a deer who spotted its hunter.

"I tried to wait for you," he admitted, turning as she dressed herself. "I thought you would want a hot bath after my direwolf so discourteously introduced himself to you. I apologize for him by the way, he has very few manners. Though imagine my surprise when I opened the door to our chambers and was greeted, not so kindly mind you, by this fellow." Robb motioned towards the pathetic lump of fur on the bed.

"Angus, like your Grey Wind, does not take so kindly to strangers," she informed him, glancing over at her dog who took up nearly a third of the large bed. "I had nearly forgotten that I had him sent here. I see you managed to subdue him without my aid, however."

Robb smiled, a genuine smile that was given so freely that it surprised her.

"I think he grew tired of growling when he saw that I wasn't going anywhere and found a place much more comfortable than the floor to sleep on. It seems as though he prioritizes his comfort over my intrusion," he explained.

She sat on the edge of the bed and let her fingers stroke over the large pup's fur. He was no longer a pup, she knew that. In fact he seemed quite old to her now in his languished behavior. She half expected Robb to come shouting down the stairwells that her dog tried to attack him. But here he was, sleeping soundly on the bed of a stranger and he seemed to care even less that she was sitting there with him.

She looked towards the head of the bed where the furs were peeled back slightly and she spotted several feather pillows that made her sigh with joy. Robb seemed to notice this, both having shared in the experience of the one flat pillow at the inn. And she cleared her throat to catch herself from laughing.

"I was having some of the best rest I've had in a long while when I was roused by the sound of - what I thought at the time was - an attacker," he told her, blowing out the candle he'd so recently lit and crawling back under the blankets where he was now and arms length away from her.

"Just me, I'm afraid," she said quietly, fidgeting slightly as she tried to adjust her shift into a comfortable position.

They sat in silence for a long while, both awake and both afraid to say something that might ruin the quiet ease that had settled between them in that moment. The bedsheets were cold against her skin, and despite the thick furs she still shivered beneath them. She wanted to rest her eyes but she felt so alert, once again as she had the night before, by the body much too close to her own. She could not feel his warmth, but she knew it was there, which made it all the more worse.

When she decided that she was not going to succumb to sleep any time soon, she turned over on her side, and ignored the weight that shifted over her feet when Angus stretched. She was surprised to see Robb, in the dim lighting, looking back at her. She wanted to divert her eyes but she found that she could not.

"How long do you plan for us to stay?" she whispered, her voice strained with weariness. He yawned, causing her to yawn as well as he scratched his auburn curls.

"I will need a week to form a proper plan with my council. With your ships and the men your father spared, I will need to begin gathering provisions as well as weapons. I assume you will send word to your ships to have them prepared for movement as soon as I am prepared to move?" he asked her and she sighed. She had wanted to avoid the topic until morning, but it seemed that perhaps now was as good a time as any.

"I must travel to Seaguard as soon as you are able to spare me," she told him and she watched him take in her request. It confused him, she could see it in his eyes as they blinked.

"I don't understand, why would I send you to Seaguard. Lord Mallister's men have already travelled south with my army. There would be little protection for you there. And anyways, I had thought you'd be much safer in Winterfell. My mother would accompany you of course."

"I cannot command my ships, Your Grace, from your winter fortress," she explained to him, trying not to raise her voice.

"Command your ships? Your ships are in Seaguard?" she nodded just enough so he could see her reply of affirmation. "Have they been in Seaguard this whole time?"

"House Mallister has always been loyal to the Baratheons," she reminded him. "The River Lords have bent to the Storm Kings, since long before the Baratheons took Storm's End. Even when the Iron Islanders captured the Riverlands from Arrec Durrandon, the River Lords found that the Storm Kings and the Baratheons who followed, were always friends they could count on in times of war and peace. My ships were entrusted to Lord Jason Mallister as payment for their debts to my father."

"He never mentioned it," Robb breathed. She could see he felt betrayed and she sighed at the thought.

"He could not have given them to you, My Lord, even if you had asked for them. The ships belonged to me, and House Baratheon alone. To give them to you would have brought my father's wrath upon your army at a time when your rule was new and very fragile. Now these ships belong to both of us, and my men will fight under a Stark sigil if you wish it."

Robb seemed to accept this, despite his disappointment in his ignorance of the ships in the first place. But it did not relieve his frown, the frown that was beginning to look so foreign to her on his mouth.

"I still do not understand why _you _must go to Seaguard. I cannot allow my wife to sale out into Ironman's Bay, off to war. Especially when I have no idea what Balon Greyjoy plans to do with my proposal," he told her, this time it was him trying to keep his voice low.

She had nearly spoken her mind the previous night about Balon Greyjoy, her opinion of Ironborn one of strong prejudice as a Stormlander. However, her hatred for them derived also from that of honor, of which the Ironborn had none. She knew their ways and how they fought at sea. She had never faced them herself but she had studied their tactics in books and lessons with her father. And now that his eyes were challenging her for an answer, she could not hold back what she had meant to say before.

"He will likely burn your proposal, spit on it first and then let it turn into ash," she said boldly and he sat up, looking down at her with his brow furrowed curiously.

"Why do you say that? Because of the rebellion? I offered him what we took. A crown for an alliance." he asked her and she forced herself to sit up as well.

"No, I think if anything it has to do with his own idea of self-worth. He wants to be king but not by your doing. Do you remember your lessons, Your Grace? Ironborn only pay the Iron Price. They do not receive gifts from kings. They take. Your war only gives him an opportunity to declare for himself."

"But he might listen still to his son. Theon-" he started and she shook her head.

"-Is more _Stark_ than Kraken. Balon is a proud man, and however noble you think this offer is, the Ironborn cannot be bought by bribery no matter how honorable. He will be insulted."

"And you think this is better reason to allow you to go to Seaguard and sail through his waters?" Robb asked her and the heat in his voice caused Angus to sit up curiously.

"My men have fought the Ironborn before. The Ironborn attack with brute force. They are nothing more than common pirates parading behind a banner of a lord," she dismissed, because to her it was true. The Ironborn were notoriously savage. But it meant she had the advantage with strategy and tact.

"I cannot allow it," he said as if it was final but it wasn't. She wouldn't let it be.

"I do not recall asking for your permission, Your Grace," she ground out and Robb's frown only deepened. She had to steady Angus when he started to growl.

"You will need my permission, Selene," he told her. "You cannot set foot outside of Riverrun without my say so."

"So is this our marriage?" she scoffed. "Our partnership is to begin with you putting me in chains?" He looked away. "You wanted this alliance, Stark. As I recall you needed those ships to take Casterly Rock. And my men fight for me alone." His eyes met hers and both could feel the tension rising alongside her voice. "Just imagine for a moment that I do lead my ships. With any luck, I'll be killed in battle, and you can find yourself a pretty wife that you do love. I can't see how you would be averse to that at least?"

"Don't," he warned and his voice was dark for the first time since she'd heard him speak. "Don't you dare say such things to me."

"You cannot admit to me that you would praise your gods at my removal from this marriage."

"I said _don't_," he hissed again and this time Angus' growls grew louder. Robb snapped his eyes to the dog, who seemed to immediately cower under his gaze and shuffle from the bed to the floor in silence. Selene stared at her dog, aghast. "Look at me," he said quickly, taking her wrist in her hand, but not with enough force that it hurt. It simply sat beneath his fingers as if his touch would convince her rather than his words. She finally did look at him, and when she did his eyes were blue fire. "I may not have asked for you, for a cold, bitter, Baratheon-tempered wife, and yet here you are. But I don't plan on being rid of you any time soon, do you understand?"

She was not so sure she did, honestly, but from the look in his eyes and the touch of his flesh against hers, she was not about to beg him for clarification. So instead she nodded, reluctantly and then snatched her hand back to her side. She did not bother trying to argue with him, a man who clearly had his mind send on his own ridiculous plans for failure. So instead she turned over, facing away from him and his blue eyes and unnatural scowl.

And she forced herself to sleep, this time ignoring the feeling of his bare chest against her back some hours after they'd both drifted off. At some point Angus hopped back up on the bed. She smiled when he growled slightly as he did so and then curled up by her side.

His loyalties back where they belonged.

* * *

><p><span>AN: I had some extremely helpful feedback on the last few chapters and I wanted to thank those of you who reviewed and those of you who continue to PM me your thoughts on the development of the story. I love writing Selene and Robb together because they sort of bring out the worst and the best in each other. Of course they still have lots to work out and both will clash on more than just ships and battle plans. I just can't wait to move forward and to see what you guys think about the coming chapters. Thank you again for taking the time to read through to chapter six! Please leave any feedback you have for me in the review box (or continue to PM me, your choice). Thanks, Lola


	8. Chapter Seven

**| Chapter Seven |**

* * *

><p>[ROBB]<p>

Riverrun was bustling with activity. With the morning had brought a new string of responsibilities for both the King and Queen. He awoke, once again, to an empty bed and despite their argument the night before, he found himself slightly disappointed. He did not see her at breakfast, and had to be informed by one of her ladies that she was occupied in the camps overseeing the organization of the supplies they'd been gifted.

He had been stuck in a council meeting, pouring over maps and movements of the Lannister army. Tywin had retreated to Harrenhal, putting Robb in a position to Take the Westerlands for everything they had. Once Selene's ships were in place and Stannis' siege on King's Landing began, Casterly Rock would be his.

It was around midday when he found Selene, scouring over her own letters and documents. She was hunched over a desk in the library, his mother's Uncle Brynden standing nearby, his arms crossed over his chest with a sour expression. He had never seen the Blackfish smile, he realized then and he thought it was quite appropriate then that he was the one standing nearest to the unsmiling woman that was Robb's wife..

"You want to send your ships through Ironman's Bay?" the Blackfish scoffed, shaking his head as he watched her placement of her fleet on the large map and her expression soured. "I'm not meaning any disrespect, Your Grace, but seventy-five ships won't escape the notice of Balon Greyjoy's reavers."

Robb wanted to laugh, having brought up the very same point to her the night before. It was clear she was tired of hearing this argument because she sighed heavily as she too crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring the Blackfish's stance.

"You fail to realize that seventy-five ships can easily take on two or three reaver vessels that may happen to be roaming the bay at any given time," she said matter-of-factly. From the Blackfish's expression Robb could tell this wasn't the first time the two had argued that day. "My men are far more effective in combat at sea than the Ironborn. Even if we do encounter a few of their ships, they will not have the weapons or the speed to match my fleet. They are pillagers, not soldiers."

"Greyjoy knows we need ships now, and if he does not plan to use those ships to help the King in the North, then he will plan to use them elsewhere," reminded the Blackfish. "What the hell do you plan to do if he's waiting near Pyke with his entire fleet?"

Robb was surprised at the man's tone but Selene did not seem to be offended in the slightest. She seemed not only steadfast, but almost at ease and Robb was reminded of their conversation from their wedding night. This was where she thrived. Not in pleasantries, hospitality or romance. In war.

"His entire fleet could not even take half of mine," she challenged and she watched the Blackfish smirk in amusement at her bold statement.

"That sounds a bit like hubris, Your Grace," he told her and Robb cleared his throat when he watched the fury rise in his wife's eyes.

Whatever Selene was about to say next, she let it go - albeit reluctantly - and turned to see him standing there. Robb eyed his uncle who did not look apologetic in the least. No one said a word as Robb approached, the Blackfish gave a slight bow of the head out of respect but she seemed reluctant to even look at him. He had a sneaking suspicion their argument from the night before had put a damper on whatever progress they might have made.

"I see you have met my wife, Ser Brynden," Robb spoke and the Blackfish scoffed loudly.

"Quite a queen you have here, Your Grace," the man replied.

"Indeed she is," Robb replied. Selene's eyes met his own and he saw them burn bright blue. "She has the idea that she should be the one to lead her fleet to battle."

"I have no qualms with a lady leading her men in to battle," he admitted with a shrug. "It's her strategy I have problem with."

"And I take your point into advisement, Ser Brynden," she replied tersely. "But I will counsel with my captains to ensure which course will be best. Of course that would be impossible if my husband still plans to forbid me from leaving Riverrun."

"Riverrun, My Lady, is where you are safest right now," Robb reminded her. She was growing impatient. He was already much too familiar with that expression.

"And who will command my men? You will be too busy fighting inland. You need someone with experience on the sea."

"And what experience do you have to speak of, Selene?" he shot back.

"My knowledge is experience enough," she answered, stepping closer towards him. "Perhaps I have never been to war, Your Grace, but I know how to command my men. I will be safer at sea than I would on land. I will be far from the fighting."

"And yet, still much too close for my comfort."

"I am a Queen," she whispered when he expected her to shout. "Queens ought to fight with their men, just as King's do."

Robb was much too stubborn to admit that she had a point, and perhaps too fearful of accepting the idea of letting a woman he had vowed to protect out of his sight and onto the battlefield. Sea or land, the dangers of war were far too real. He remembered his first battle and Selene may have been brave at heart, but he did not wish that on her.

Robb looked to his uncle and he did not have to ask for a moment alone with his wife. The moment their eyes met the man nodded to the both of them and left the room, closing the door behind him. There was only brief a brief moment where Selene pretended Robb had left with him, ignoring him as she returned to her letters.

"You should not seek council, Selene, unless you wish to take their comments to heart," he explained calmly.

"I told the Blackfish I would take his concern under advisement. He made many valid points. However, it is my wish to discuss them with my men before I make any final decisions," she contradicted and he signed.

"Can we discuss this, as partners?" he asked her and watched her eyes leave the map and meet his. "Is that not what we agreed?"

"I thought there was no discussion to be had, My Lord?" she bitterly asked. "I was under the impression that your decision was final."

"I am not such a hard man that I cannot be persuaded otherwise," he admitted and her scowl faltered. "I am far too young to be King but I have been entrusted this position despite that fact. As King I need to make decisions that are both wise and fair. I admit that when I forbade you from leaving Riverrun that I was not being either."

"How noble of you to admit so," she replied with a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Are you saying that you will allow me to go?"

"I am saying that, as partners, we ought to discuss the option of you leading the fleet and what the consequences of that course of action would be. Does that seem fair?"

"Indeed, it does," she said reluctantly, sitting down in the chair. Robb followed and eased himself down into the chair next to her and he felt very much as if he was negotiating the terms of some peace treaty with the way she was eyeing him.

"My most obvious concern is your safety," he started when she gave him a look of exasperation.

"As I have already assured you, my ships are much safer than your castles. The Riverlands have already been ransacked once. One mistake by your army and they could take Riverrun castle again. My ships are not only faster than any of Balon Greyjoy's, but they are sturdy and tried in combat."

"I do not plan to leave the Riverlands unprotected, especially with my wife and mother amongst them," he objected. "And I would still rather you both travel, under guard, to Winterfell. My brothers cannot run the estate forever, they are only children. And with my sisters separated, Arya still missing, I cannot bear for my family to be apart for much longer. Bran and Rickon need my mother, and they need your help to run Winterfell."

It was true. Robb knew that Bran knew very little about running being lord of a castle. Selene, on the other hand, had been raised in the home of a lord. She would know things other than how to command a fleet. He needed her to use those things to keep Winterfell intact whilst he was away.

But those were not the largest of his concerns.

"I also worry for your safety if you are with child," he added and she let her eyes fall to her hands which were settled neatly in her lap. "I know neither of us wants to think about sharing a bed so soon, however it was part of our contract, that you would bear heirs for the North. Marriage is not as strong as a child is at holding together an alliance."

"Is it really rational to be thinking about heirs when were are in the midst of war?" she asked impatiently and he could see she was not comfortable with the topic.

"There is, in fact, no better time than now," he explained. "You and I are the first to sit on the Northern throne since Torrhen Stark knelt to Aegon the first to end the War of Conquest. If we leave no one to take it's place, there will be no King in the North."

He watched her think, which was a marvelous thing to behold. Selene said everything in her eyes and even though he had barely known her a few days, he could see what each glance meant. Her hands moved steadily over the map in front of her as she contemplated his words. She wasn't ready and neither was he. But the fact of the matter was, they were both thrust into this war now, much too young and unprepared. But they had to adjust and they did not have much time to do so.

"What real use would I be at Winterfell?" she questioned, her tone even and rational. "I do not wish to sit idly and wait for word of your success or failure. Or my father's for that matter."

"You would not be idle," he assured. "I need someone to handle my affairs-" he paused. "Our affairs," he corrected. "You know more about sitting on a throne than I do. You were trained for this."

"But I was also trained to command ships, My Lord," she reminded him but not as forcefully as before. She sighed. "I have seventy-five ships at Seagard. If I can go and simply meet with my captains, discuss a plan of action-" she stopped, placing her fingers to the bridge of her nose, punching slightly. "-I would just feel more comfortable leaving it in their power, if I could speak with them first."

Robb was surprised by her answer. He thought he would never get her to back down, even if he made a good argument. Although it wasn't ideal, it was an option he could feel more comfortable with. An option that he felt would keep her safe and appeased all at once.

"Is this an agreeable alternative?" she asked, and there was disappointment in her voice. It pulled at something in Robb's chest, her downcast eyes and sullen voice.

"Yes," he replied. "But I must insist that l come with you."

"Am I not trusted to see to my own men?" she accused with a frown.

"I believe you when you say you are capable. You know more about ships and sailors than I do. But I wish to know the men who fight for me now. I wish to meet your captains and who you plan to leave to command your fleet in your stead."

She didn't seem overly pleased, but not necessarily angry either. She wouldn't want him breathing down her neck, that he understood. But if he knew anything about his new wife, it was that she was determined and stubborn. If he didn't follow her to Seagard, then she'd end up on that ship with her men, sailing for Casterly Rock with no regard for his orders or outrage.

"Very well," she answered finally and stood. "Then let us not waste time. I should think a day will suffice in order to ready myself for departure to the North. Your mother and I can depart for Winterfell directly from Seagard when you return to West."

"I will make preparations," he agreed curtly but did not get a chance to leave before she started towards the door. She stopped only once, looking over her shoulder with an uncertain expression but her chin held high.

"I will be prepared should you decide to share our bed this evening," she told him, her voice tight and not at all as certain as her stature would have him believe.

He did not know what else to do except nod. She left him then, standing alone in the room with only his nerves as he thought of being with her again. The first time was uncomfortable enough that he had not wanted to think of it again until he had brought it up moments ago. While not ideal, it was necessary.

He had chosen this. And he would ensure that he saw it through.

* * *

><p>[SELENE]<p>

Her father was preparing for battle. It would only be a few weeks before he would bring his fearsome fleet to the doors of King's Landing. Selene read the letter again, noting that Robb's desire to draw in Tywin Lannister's army from the East would allow for just enough time for Stannis to mount a successful attack on the capital.

It was all falling together much easier than she had anticipated.

She stood there, allowing Aida to lace her corset and despite her frustration with her husband, she was determined not to let it show as she had the day before. Aida blushed every time her eyes met Selene's and he knew what the girl was thinking. Selene let her eyes slide over to where the bed was still unmade. They both knew Selene had been with her husband, in a manner that still made Selene uncomfortable to speak about.

The previous night had gone almost exactly as she had expected. They barely spoke beforehand and Robb had given her a disapproving stare when he noticed her wine-stained lips. She couldn't face it with sober eyes, she had believed. His body and the weight of him upon her, the way he moved again and again with urgency, it made her feel helpless. He had kept his promise to her. He had done better for her. But it was exactly that which had made it more difficult for her to bear.

The fact was, it was no longer painful in the way it had been on their wedding night. The first time he'd entered her she had been frightened and taken aback by the fullness she had felt. It was a slow and painful feeling and the more she tensed, the more it ached. But she found her body responding differently the second time, as if this instinctual ritual had been ingrained in her memory. She allowed herself to relax, if only slightly, knowing there was no avoiding it. The same discomfort rose when they joined, but her body was more prepared, anticipation rising within her that she did not know how to quell. A curiosity that made her curse her own wandering mind.

What had embarrassed her most of all, was the look on her husband's face as he met the culmination of their joint endeavor. There was something other than dread. Something more foreign than the awkwardness she had seen before. This time, she noted, there was pleasure in his eyes, in the deep groan that rose from his throat. The mere thought made the blood rush not only to her cheeks, but to every inch of her body as he took her face in his and pressed his lips firmly against hers. To say she had been surprised, would have been an understatement.

And then it was gone, that look and those touches. And they lay silent in the dark until the night consumed them both.

Now as she was dressing, her privacy limited to her three ladies and Angus, the latter of whom was settled quietly by the fire. Alys and Ysmay were busying themselves in packing her things for Winterfell. Aida lifted Selene's dress from the bed and walked it carefully across the room when suddenly their movements were paused by a knock at the door. All four women paused their movements and Angus lifted his head, alert as the knock came again.

Aida opened it, as Selene quickly pulled her robes over her undergarments. In walked Catelyn Stark, dressed in a brilliant Tully blue and her auburn hair tied back modestly. Selene held her arms over the silk robe as the woman's eyes traveled over her appearance but she did not allow the woman to see her cheeks flush.

"My Lady," the ladies each said, curtseying to Robb's mother and Selene bowed her head once in respect.

"Lady Stark," she greeted and the woman bowed her head in return.

"Your Grace," she replied curtly. "I apologize for my intrusion."

"It is no intrusion," Selene contradicted as politely as she could. "His Grace told me he had informed you of our journey to Seagard."

"Yes," Catelyn confirmed, her voice still terse and her stature stiff. Selene had not noticed until now how regal the woman looked. She was eighteen years her senior and yet the woman still had a beauty that was enviable. Selene would never be so beautiful. There were some, in the Stormlands, who compared her features to that of her lady grandmother, Cassana Estermont. It was meant to be a compliment, she knew that. However, it was always accompanied with an clever insult of '_if only she didn't sour her face so often.'_ Selene had inherited that particular trait from her father. And her grandfather, or so it was said.

"My Lady Catelyn, is there something I can do for you?" she asked when the woman didn't continue and Catelyn glanced over towards the bed.

"My son wishes for me to spend time with you, to give you guidance but you will forgive me for saying that I am not overly fond of the idea." It was a cold statement, or so Selene thought. However, it was said in a polite manner and Selene couldn't find herself to be angry at the woman's reluctance.

"We will have much time to spend with one another," Selene noted. "I think, perhaps, it would be wise for us to be friendly. While I have trained for many years for exactly this possibility, I will say I have very little practice in the matter. I would find your guidance most appreciated."

Catelyn glanced towards the bed again.

"Is there something wrong?" asked Selene, noticing the woman's discomfort and she shook her head.

"No," she replied clearing her throat.

Selene watched the woman standing there, looking around the room that Selene shared with her son and it occurred to her that perhaps it the woman was as uncomfortable as she was.

"It is strange, is it not?" Selene told her, breaking the silence. "The situation we have found ourselves in. Neither of us ever having thought I'd marry your son. I for one have spent years preparing myself for a marriage to the South. But somehow I have ended up as the wife of the King in the North."

"Not the crown you expected but a crown nonetheless," Catelyn whispered and there was bitterness in the last few words. Selene motioned for her ladies to leave the room. They all obliged.

"I advised my father against it, you know?" Selene explained. "However, we daughters are ultimately bargaining chips, are we not?" Catelyn did not nod or speak to agree but Selene could see it in the woman's eyes. "Your husband was a good man. I remember him, from when I was a child. He must have been wed to you for less than a year when he came south to lift the siege on Storm's End. I was with my father, in the great keep when he came through the gates. I thought then, when i was so small and weak, that he looked so very much like a king a god even, a hero come to save us all. When I met him again in King's Landing, only a few months ago, I realized he was just a man." Catelyn's eyes blinked slightly. "He was kind to me, so kind and so-" she paused, breathing in deep. "I know how dear you were to him. How dear you all were. And though I never imagined myself married to his son - to your son - I think if he is anything like his father, if you and Lord Eddard could find love despite the circumstances of your marriage, then perhaps there is hope for us yet."

Catelyn's eyes considered this and many times she watched the woman open her mouth every-so-slightly to speak and then shut it promptly after. They did not share words then, only a glance, blue eyes on blue eyes with similar expressions of mutual respect.

"I wanted my son to choose his wife," she said after clearing her throat again. This time her stature changed. "I never wanted him to marry someone any woman who was not of his his own choosing. I told Ned that our son would marry for love." This time it was Selene who shifted uncomfortably. "Robb deserved a loving wife. A woman with a kind heart who is both selfless and passionate. A woman who could make him smile and bring him joy."

"Instead he was forced to take me," Selene understood.

"And now he is forced to live with that decision, for the rest of his days."

The woman spoke as if Selene was a burden. Perhaps she was but it was no easier to hear the words said aloud, the same idea that Selene had repeated to herself again and again. She and Robb were inconvenient to one another. And yet they were bonded by vows that neither was selfish enough to break. Both of them were trapped with no way out. And she hadn't done anything to make the best of it.

Catelyn bowed her head once more and started towards the door but Selene's voice stopped the woman's steps briefly.

"I am trying," she attempted but Catelyn did not turn. "I am trying to be that woman."

"You'll never be that woman. Accept that, and perhaps you can be some semblance of a wife to my son."

And with that she was gone. And Selene was left breathless and cold.

* * *

><p>[ROBB]<p>

It was a wet morning, the dawn barely breaking over the trees and the horses were as restless as he was.

There was tension in the air and he had a sneaking suspicion his suggestion to his mother had been the cause of it. Selene had been restless the night prior. She had pretended to be asleep when he came to bed and he realized then that they hadn't spoken all day. But as soon as he slipped beneath the furs, feeling the heat radiating off of her skin and onto his, he could almost hear her thoughts as if she was screaming them. Late into the night, when the fire had nearly died in the fireplace across the room, he thought he heard the distinct sound of light sobbing. But he did not mention it.

Now he watched as she saddled her own horse and his mother stood idly off towards her brother and uncle. Every so often the woman would glance towards Selene and then back towards her hands which she wrung together anxiously.

Selene hadn't spoken a word.

His wife's ladies were traveling on the carriage which was packed lightly, much lighter than he had expected, and each was hooded to keep the rain from pouring down over their gowns. Selene however was dressed in a much more practical attire. She wore a simple gown, over riding trousers that he had watched her slip on in the cover of darkness early that morning when she thought he was still asleep.

She hoisted herself up onto her mare with no assistance and settled herself in as her men mounted their own horses around her. Angus was playing in the mud, the dog who had followed his mistress around anxiously all morning as if she was planning to leave him once more.

His mother was at his side, soon, and he looked down at her with concern in his eyes and guilt in hers.

"What did you say to her?" he whispered and she shook her head, turning as if it was nothing.

"I did as you asked. I went to see her and gave her the only guidance I had to offer," she answered softly, tying her cloak tighter around her shoulders and letting Robb hoist her up onto the horse.

"She hasn't spoken to me since yesterday morning. I may have only just met my wife, but I can certainly distinguish when she is upset."

"Is she not always upset?" his mother bit back impatiently and Robb's brows furrowed.

"No," he replied quicker than he meant to. "She's not. Things between her and I are already fragile. I asked you for your help because I will not be by her side for much longer. I know she can be soft, but it takes coaxing. I thought you of all people would be able to help her. But now I'm not so certain I made the right choice."

"Robb-" she begged but a commotion interrupted their quiet dispute and both of them turned.

Selene's mare was standing on it's back legs, neighing wildly as it kicked it's front two in the air. Grey Wind stood at the mare's ankles and the horse bucked anxiously as the direwolf circled it with a watchful gaze. Robb and several of Selene's men ran towards her but she held the reins tightly, waving them off with one free hand and a steady voice. Her eyes were focused, her stance determined as she eased the horse down, stroking it gently whilst simultaneously shouting towards Grey Wind.

Grey was reluctant to step back, watching Angus who was quick to her side in defence of his mistress and Robb watched the large wolfhound dog and the great direwolf beast face off in a territorial battle that neither would win. Because the moment Robb thought Angus would lunge for Grey, Selene's whistle called him off, and Angus slunk behind the horse and followed her as they trotted off in the mud and down the road in the opposite direction of Robb and his direwolf.

Robb quickly mounted, or as quickly as he could with his heavy armor, and went after her. Her slow trot made it easy to catch up and he reached over and grabbed the reins, causing her to look up with a frown.

"Are you alright?" he asked her quickly and in place of what he expected to be a breathless or startled expression, he was only met with confusion.

"Yes, of course. My mare was simply startled. It's nothing I cannot handle," she explained.

"You were nearly thrown off of her. Are you sure she's even safe, getting spooked so easily?"

She did not attempt to yell. She simply glanced at his hands on the reins and then back at him.

"Please," she insisted, lowering her voice. "I do not want to argue today." Robb was caught off guard by her words and their tone.

He let go of the reins, slowly. Her eyes followed his hand when it returned to his own lap and he watched as her eyes levelled on his own. She didn't look angry, only tired and resigned. Robb realized then that he felt quite the same. There were so few moments where they both where comfortable, neither on edge or butting heads. But as they sat there together, neither looking away for the first time since they'd met, he felt oddly at ease.

"Shall we go, My Lady?" he asked and nodded.

They continued on the road, riding side by side as Robb motioned for the rest of their company to follow. Angus ran around excitedly in the rain and when Grey came rushing to Robb's left, he watched anxiously as the two eyed one another. But this time they did not growl or interact, they simply trotted on as if the other did not exist.

At some point, late into the night when the rain had stopped, Selene spoke. They discussed her father's letter, but she did not mention the other piece of parchment he had seen her clinging to, a letter from Shireen. She simply talked about her father's fleet and Robb was happy to listen. Once again she was at ease in her communication of battle plans and strategy. She mentioned Ser Davos and he could hear a warmth in her voice when she spoke of him. She spoke fondly of next to no one except Shireen.

Robb took the opportunity to tell her about Winterfell, and while she had originally seemed averse to the idea of travelling North, he found her listening eagerly as he spoke. He told him about Bran and Rickon, and when he didn't feel a large pang in his chest, he tried to tell her about Arya and Sansa as well. Selene noted that the only thing she knew about brothers were memories of her uncles. It was an awkward topic, they both realized. Robb did not speak Renly's name and yet both of them could not help but be reminded of the youngest Baratheon son and his fate.

They rode through the night and early into the morning until they passed by a small village just a few hours north of Wendish Town. There people were still rebuilding after the Lannister army had ravaged the Riverlands. Most of the young men were with Robb's army in the West. What remained were women, children and elderly, all of whom were working together to bring back their homes and livelihoods. The people stopped as his caravan road through and many of the children were tired and too weak to chase after him eagerly. They simply bowed and whispered to one another and Robb could feel the guilt welling up inside of him.

It was because of him that these people were without homes, without fields of grain that were now burnt to the ground. But it would be like this everywhere he looked for months, years even if this war continued on.

Selene slowed her horse until she came to a stop and stared down at a group of children who sat with sullen eyes and filthy clothes. She shifted uncomfortably, glancing around and then she caught Robb's curious gaze.

"How long until we reach Seagard?" she asked him.

"Another day's ride," he answered and her lips only tightened until they were straight in a line. "If we continue on at the same pace we should be able make camp tonight and reach the castle by mid morning tomorrow."

"We should camp here," she replied quickly.

"Here?"

"Yes," she affirmed. "Our horses are tired, we rode all day yesterday and they need rest, as do we."

"There is a larger village, with an inn for you and your ladies, only a few hours north of here," Robb contradicted.

"My ladies and I do not need beds, My Lord. We can camp here just as well as any of your soldiers."

"I still don't understand," he asked her curiously. "Why here?"

"These people are starving," she told him sternly, dismounting her horse. "They need our help."

He understood then that she felt pity for these people. War had yet to reach the Crownlands and she had yet to see this everywhere she went, as he had. He had wanted to stop and help each person he rode past on the road. But there were always more and he always had less and less to give. He didn't want to admit that war had hardened him, but perhaps it was starting to.

"Selene," he said softly, climbing off his own horse and placing a hand on her shoulder. "We don't have the resources to help them all. We've brought enough to reach Seagard and nothing more."

"My men will have no issue giving up their rations and neither will I," she insisted and her tone was final.

She walked over to a soldier, a large man on a black horse who had traveled with Selene from Pinkmaiden, a man she called Gyff. He was gruff man with about as much enthusiasm as a plank of wood. His expressions matched. She said only a few words and he nodded without surprise or complaint. What little food they did have was loaded out of the wagons and her men immediately began passing it out to the villagers nearby.

"What in Seven Hells is going on," the Blackfish asked upon reaching his side. "Why have we stopped?"

"Tell the men to unload and start making camp, and spare any rations that we can."

"Camp here?" the man asked in surprise. "And where does Her Grace plan to sleep, on the ground like a common soldier? Does she not see there are no beds here?"

"She is quite aware," Robb defended though he had asked the very question only moments prior. "It won't hurt to rest the horses. We've been riding through the night."

"We can't stop every time we see a village like this, Your Grace. There'll be too many."

"We can stop this one time and we'll do what we can," Robb instructed and the Blackfish reluctantly nodded. "Have my mother write to Lady Mallister and inform her of our delay."

The people were grateful of their stop and Robb stayed busy long into the afternoon as did the rest of his men. He heard very few complaints. Even his mother helped to feed the sick where Selene had spent most of the day. She was sitting under a tree, holding a child in her arms as she tried to feed him.

He was small, malnutritioned as if he had not eaten in weeks. She stroked his hair and rocked him in her arms. It wasn't until he heard a mother's sobs that he realized how sick the child was. The child could not garner enough strength to lift his own body, lying helplessly in his wife's arms as she tried to force water down his throat. But he only coughed it back up and Selene would try again.

This went on for hours, until the sun set and all the rations were passed out. Robb couldn't bear to eat knowing so many had given up their own. He did not bother to make a tent as he slept out under the stars. The sky was clear and the fire was warm. And after a long days work, he laid himself down onto the furs where Selene was, staring up at the night sky with eyes glazed. He didn't plan to speak until he heard her voice over the sound of crickets in the grass.

"That child died in my arms today," she whispered and he turned his head from the stars to his wife whose gaze was far away. "I couldn't help him."

"You helped a dozen of others," he reminded her and she shook her head.

"He was so starved, I could feel his bones. He could barely open his eyes," she explained, clearing her throat once.

"He won't be the last," he said softly. "I plan to lay siege to Casterly Rock, and your father wants to hold King's Landing. Many more people will die. Children will die."

"I understand you think me foolish for stopping today," she told him, her eyes falling from the sky to meet his. He could see water in them.

"I do not think you foolish, Selene," he replied honestly. "I want to help these people, all of them. But I can do very little until the enemy that did this to them is defeated."

"I see them, and - and I see me," she admitted. "I remember starving, what it is like to be without for so long that you no longer feel hunger, that there is only pain and weakness." He furrowed his brow in confusion. "I'm sorry I just can't watch them starve, not if I can do something about it. At Storm's End I watched my father lose many people. I was almost one of them."

He remembered then, the siege during Robert's Rebellion. The year long struggle Stannis and his men suffered as they held the Baratheon seat against Mace Tyrell's loyalist army. It had been his father who lifted the siege and he remembered hearing stories of the horrors he found when they finally did.

"Ser Davos saved us, because he could not bear to know people were dying while he had the ability to help. I know that times are hard here. But so long as I have enough to give, I cannot sit idly by as people die of starvation. Not these people. Our people," she added.

He agreed with her. How could he not. She spoke sense with wisdom and compassion in a way he had hardly witnessed since leaving Winterfell so many months ago. And now here she was, bringing him back to what mattered most of all. He could not sit back idly and watch them suffer either. Who was he fighting for if not them, his people - their people?

He didn't know why he did what he did next. But there was something in the way she spoke, the way her eyes would not leave his and the closeness of her body to his that made him reach out to her and he grabbed her hand in his. He squeezed it only once but did not let go of it as they stayed there like that. She flinched only slightly when his hand grazed hers but she did not pull back. She glanced down at their touching fingers as if observing something foreign to her. It was foreign to them both.

But neither seemed to mind.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for another round of fantastic reviews. You guys are wonderful and I am beyond excited that I've been keeping you all entertained through the first few chapters. I have much planned for the future of the war and Selene and Robb. Please keep bringing on your thoughts. They are so fun to read! -Lola  
><strong>


	9. Chapter Eight

****| Chapter Eight |****

* * *

><p><span>SELENE<span>

Seagard reminded her too much of home. The seaside on a stormy afternoon as the waves crashed into the cliffside was very much the same as it was at Storm's End. It had been years since she'd seen home and she wasn't sure she'd ever see it again.

She stood staring out the window, waiting for the her men to finish reviewing her maps. Her plans were laid out on the large table in Jason Mallister's study. Twenty of her most experienced captains had filed into the room and listened to her propositions. All of them had been at her side throughout her many years of training, each one offering her sound advice at one time or another. If she was going to leave her fleet to anyone, it would be to these men.

She saw Robb approach her from the corner of her eye and he stood at her side, looking out the window with his hands behind his back. He didn't speak at first as she watched the ocean moving below. The skies were grey and a light mist of rain descended down from the clouds. It was when he glanced at her that she knew he would speak.

"Have you decided who will take your place?" he asked her. "They all seem up to the task."

"They're all eager to prove themselves, not just to me it seems," she replied and by the smile he tried to hide in the corner of his mouth it seemed he found her comment amusing. "Julian is the most experienced of all my captains. He is tried in both combat at war and with the Ironborn. Oswyn is well-versed in strategy, however. Perhaps the most knowledgeable of all of my men."

"And you wish to choose between them?" Robb asked and she shook her head.

"No," she said simply. "I wish to choose them both."

He was about to ask her what she meant but she turned and made her way towards the table where the chatter of her men stopped and each of them looked up at her in silence. She placed her hands on the map, flattening it out as it curled up at the edges and she took a small ship in her hand. She toyed with it only a moment, reminded of Allard's ship which had set sail the day she was told she was to marry Robb Stark. She then placed it nearest to Pyke.

"If we want to take Casterly Rock, we have only one obstacle," she spoke, her voice projected across the room and the men straightened. "The King has asked Balon Greyjoy for an alliance, a request the man refuses to acknowledge. This fleet is larger and more powerful than anything the Ironborn could put before us. And it is our ships that will succeed in winning the west for the King in the North." The men nodded as she spoke. "Because we do not know what Lord Greyjoy plans to do with his ships, he could very well be waiting for any potential movement through thier bay. I propose to you that we split our fleet, send half in the direction of Pyke, straight on towards the coast and Casterly Rock itself. The other will go around the Iron Islands, westward."

"A safeguard?" Oswyn asked and she nodded. He seemed pleased by her strategy.

"My Queen, if I may speak?" Julian's deep voice inquired.

"It is what I asked you here for," she retorted, her eyes expectant.

"While your proposition is, indeed, the sensible option, I still am not certain that thirty-seven ships is enough to take the Rock," he pointed out.

"My Queen, the Rock has left only a sparse number of it's own ships to defend the Lannister holdings," Oswyn interrupted. "Thirty-seven of our Baratheon ships, with the other half only days behind, will prove to be plenty."

"It is a valid concern," Selene maintained. "I concede that there is some risk, especially if we lose two or three ships against the Ironborn. However," she turned then to Oswyn. "Your scouts have proved useful in divulging the location of Tywin Lannister's ships, have they not?"

"Yes, Your Grace," he replied swiftly.

"What do they report?"

"Lord Tywin's fleet is a mere thirty-two ships in total, the bulk of which are located in the bay nearest Lannisport and the Rock. However, there are a fair few dispersed up and down the coast, allowing for less protection in key areas, here" he reached towards the map pointing out the most strategic points of attack. "Here and here as well."

"And any word yet about Redwyne's ships?" she asked Julian. "Has he sent any of his fleet from the Arbor to protect the west?"

"Most of Lord Redwyne's ships are being consigned to the Tyrell force. Since the Tyrells have refused to side with His Grace, King Stannis, their loyalties are still questionable. I've heard their movements have been mostly east, though I have directed that Ser Gilbert alert us of any news of Redwyn's movements near Storm's End."

"Should there be any ships left behind?" Oswyn questioned and Selene realized she had not yet thought of guarding her new home. She had seventy-five ships, more than enough to take the Rock twice over. But not once had she thought of any potential attack on the North. The coastal strongholds in the North had few ships that she knew of. She knew Bear Island had no more than a handful of galley ships and their port was mostly overrun with cogs. The small ships were good for trade but little else aside from that. Neither would be sufficient against any real naval threat.

She glanced to Robb.

"How many of your lords own Whalers, Your Grace?" she asked him and Robb seemed surprised that she had addressed him.

"I would say there are five or six at best stationed near the Bay of Seals. Lord Karstark's men command these. Lady Maege Mormont has a few near outside the Bay of Ice but I know she keeps them out during most of the whaling season."

"If it pleases you, husband, I will write to them and have them return to the coast, at least as a last line of defence. I have a few galleys I can spare and I will have my father send some as well."

Robb smiled at this and she felt her cheeks grow hot. She did not look back at her men, afraid they would see the pink flush rising in her face.

"It would please me, indeed."

When she felt she could finally contain the blush in her cheeks, relinquishing her gaze upon her husband, she continued devising the logistics of the plan they were to put into action. It was over an hour of discussion. Each captain brought up something that could go wrong and they would concoct a solution that would suffice should the need ever arise.

But soon her biggest omission came to light with a simple question from Julian's squire. The boy was ten and three, a bright boy called Stannis after her father. He was Ser Davos' sixth son.

"But which ship will you command, My Queen?" he asked and Selene watched her men's expressions change. They were eager, each of them, to serve by her side.

Suddenly Robb was much too close, his request much too fresh in her mind. She reminded herself, for the umteenth time, that she had agreed to this, that she was Queen in the North and her presence was needed elsewhere. Far from her men and far from her ships. She wanted to be graceful, to be unfeeling but the anger still lingered on as she clenched the edge of the table to quell the outburst struggling to get out. She opted for a deep breath.

"As of right now, the North is left with little supervision. Until the war has come to an end, Winterfell will be in my care," she explained, her voice level. Her men looked at her with confused expressions. "In my place, I have designated the power of command to two men whom I have the utmost faith in carrying out our plan and helping your King take the West. Julian, you will act as commander, in place of me, of the thirty-six I will send in direct course to Casterly Rock."

"It is an honor, My Queen," replied Julian, bowing his head respectfully.

"Oswyn, I trust you command the remainder of the fleet and guide them West, around the Islands. You will take our fastest ships."

"Yes, My Queen," Oswyn agreed, bowing his head in the same manner as Julian had.

She could see that both were genuinely pleased with their appointments and the trust she was bestowing upon them. But her biggest concern was splitting the two of them. She could not give one command and not the other. Both, while friends, were also somewhat rivals. Each had opinions in strategy and combat that differed from the other. This was why she needed them both.

"We will stay in communication throughout the duration. Oswyn's scouts will keep us informed of any and all movements of Lord Tywin's allies. Also, I should not need to remind you all how important the Baratheon-Stark alliance is. Our plans are still, as of yet, unknown by most of the kingdoms. My father is preparing to take King's Landing and our King will take the West. The bastard Joffrey cannot fight a war on both fronts and so long as our alliance stays strong and secret, there is little that can prevent us from taking winning this war."

There was a brief cheer from the men, excited by their lust for battle. She had known these men most of her life and she knew that while she did not like the idea of giving up control, that she could trust them to do anything she asked. She felt confident that if she asked them to throw themselves into the sea that they would do so gladly.

* * *

><p><span>ROBB<span>

It had taken him nearly an hour before he was able to get his mother to confess what she'd said to Selene. And when she spoke the words, Robb felt a disappointment in him rise in a way he had thought he could never feel about his own mother.

His mother, this woman whom he admired, who had stood at his side and was his stronghold during this war, during his father's death, during his engagement. And now she had let him down so greatly. He needed her. He needed his mother, now more than ever. Robb had a new wife, a strong-willed and fickle wife who he knew so little about. What did he know about women? He needed his mother to help soothe relations between them, to help him find a way to love this woman that was now his.

And she had done it all on a whim of poor judgement.

"She's as lost as I am, mother. You've only made it more miserable for her, for me as well."

"I cannot help the way I feel. I fear she is her father's daughter, Robb. I know what that man is capable of," Catelyn retorted and Robb shook his head.

"I have seen very little that would suade me into believing she is capable of such evil. She may have inherited his lack of charisma but that is not a fault I would condemn her for." Her frown only deepened and she turned her head in shame. "You agreed this was the best option. I am dealing with it. It is time you dealt with it as well."

"And I am supposed to trust that she has your best interests at heart?" Catelyn's voice rose as she spoke.

"She is, at the very, least setting aside her own interests. I asked her to leave her ships and her men to take over my duties at Winterfell. While she may have been reluctant, she agreed, nonetheless."

"It is what is expected of her, she must know that," Catelyn scoffed.

"And yet if you had seen the way her men respect her, the way they strive to please her, you would have seen how difficult it was for her to do what is 'expected of her'. She should be out there, on the seas, commanding our fleet and yet she is doing as I've asked her."

"And if this war is through, and Stannis Baratheon sits on the Iron Throne? What if he goes back on his word to let you keep the North? Do you think Selene will stand by your side when her father summons her back?" He did not answer her because deep down he knew it was a question he had asked himself many times. "Once she has your heir, you are of no further use to her. And once Stannis dies, the Iron Throne passes to her. What is to stop her from taking everything?"

"Do you hear yourself?"

"Do you?" she asked just as quickly. "You are quick to find her timid and unassuming but you and I have both seen her with her men. She isn't a shy little flower, Robb, no matter how she plays one in your presence."

"I won't hear any more of this," he wanted to shout but it came out as an angry sigh.

He spun around, intending to leave the room and letting her sit there in her anger but she placed her hand around his arm, stopping him in his place. He did not look at her but he could tell she would be disapproving of his outburst. He trusted his mother and she was letting him down when he needed her most.

"Robb," she whispered. "I know you don't want to hear ill of her. But you have to face the reality that she is a Baratheon. Her loyalties lie with her father. While I do not fault her that, I cannot find it in myself to trust that she will be loyal to you when it might benefit her otherwise."

He didn't know how to answer her then. Of course there was a chance that Selene's loyalties might waver should the alliance crumble. But it was his responsibility, as well as hers, to ensure it did not. Heir or not, their kingdoms would be bound once succession was restored. Whatever happened after they would figure out when the time came.

"If you want to ensure her loyalties, mother," he began, still not looking at her. "Then stop telling her she'll never belong."

And with that he left, knowing his words were harsh but necessary. His mother didn't try to stop him this time and he closed the door behind him as he made his way down the corridor. The hour had grown late somehow, and as he walked through the courtyard, his cloak clutched around his shoulders, he wondered when it had gotten so dark. There were only a few of his men circled around the fire, laughing as they clutched what looked like horns of ale.

The staircase up to his rooms felt infinite, and with each subsequent step he sighed, knowing the night would be full of guilt-ridden stares and awkward silence. But when he entered the room he was met with a sight that was much to the contrary.

Selene was sitting atop the bed which was covered in heavy Northern furs. She was sitting cross-legged, a large book on her lap. She held a goblet in her right hand whilst her left hand suppressed a giggle, a sound that distracted him from his frustration nearly as much as the way her nightgown fell off her shoulder. He noticed the flesh was marred slightly, light pink and distorted. But he didn't get a chance to look at it for long, as the door shut behind him and she jumped, the wine in her hand spilling and she shouted a surprised expletive. It was a sight that he could not help but find amusing and while he tried to hold back his laugh, it came out loudly and uninhibited.

She crawled off of the bed, adjusting her robe over her shoulder and started pulling at the furs which were now wine-stained red. She was cursing under her breath as she pulled them over towards the corner of the room. Robb grabbed the goblet and the book from the floor but as soon as he started to read the title of the book she had been so amused by, he felt her grab hold of it.

He looked up at her and saw her cheeks flush a bright shade of pink and her gaze refused to meet his own. They were at a standstill, both pulling equally on the book and neither willing to relinquish their hold on the thing. Robb took the time to let his eyes graze over the title and it was suddenly apparent that she was embarrassed.

"An Education in Love-Making?" he asked with a smirk on his lips and she slapped her hands over her face in shame but he could have sworn he saw her hiding a grin as well.

"I-," she begged and he heard a distinct giggle, muffled by her fingers. "I didn't realize you'd be back so soon."

"I knew you were a reader, Selene, but I had no idea you were interested in _this_ type of literature," he teased and to his surprise she didn't scowl. Her blush only deepened.

"I'm not...that is to say it's not mine. I-" she paused again, her words stammered. "I was in the library, browsing the shelf and-oh I don't know why I grabbed it I just thought-." When he didn't answer, her frown reappeared. "You think I'm foolish, don't you?"

"On the contrary," he whispered. "I find it quite endearing."

"Endearing?" she asked skeptically. "You catch me reading a book about...sex...and you find it endearing?"

"Why not? Am I supposed to be angry?"

"It isn't exactly very respectable," she reminded him. "I can't say that I recall my Septa adding this to her list of sophisticated literature for young ladies."

"Well I suppose you aren't a young lady any longer," he retorted and shrugged off his doublet. "I find nothing obscene about a married woman educating herself." He frowned as he struggled with the ties of his tunic and after several moments of watching him fumble with the knot she swatted his hands away and took over, impatiently. "Though I am embarrassed to say that your education will soon surpass my own."

Her fingers slipped at his words and she looked up at him, eyes wide and aghast at his comment. At her expression he laughed once more and grabbed hold of her hands. She did not flinch much, only stared up at him with a new expression that made his laughter die slowly. She attempted to continue at his ties, looking back down in concentration. As she pulled at the ties he loosed his grip only slightly, letting his hands travel down over her wrists as she worked. He allowed his eyes to linger on her lips, wine-red and her breath sweet.

She finally let loose the ties, pulling them apart and unlacing his tunic until he was fully capable of taking care of the rest on his own. But when she looked up at him expectantly and did not attempt to pull away, Robb felt the strangest twinge in his stomach as their eyes locked.

"Can I get you some wine, Your Grace?" she whispered and while he was in no hurry to let her go, he nodded.

She pulled her hands from his and walked slowly over towards the table, taking her own cup and filling it as well. She carried the cups carefully, concentrating on each step as if she had already had her fill. They stood in silence as the fire cracked nearby and he set his eyes upon her form. Her cheeks had returned to their natural tone but he decided he was much fonder of the pink in them.

"You won't tell anyone?" she insisted. "I couldn't bare to have your men laughing at me, or your mother for that matter."

The words made him briefly remember his argument with his mother but he opted not to linger on the the thought too long. He, took her cheek in his hand and let his thumb graze over the small freckle at the side of her mouth. He heard her breath catch in her throat.

"It stays between us, wife," he whispered and her eyes closed at his words.

"I am not sure how reliable of a book it is anyways," she admitted offhandedly. "Many of the things it describes-well I just couldn't imagine they would truly pleasure a man."

Robb thought for a moment he might ask her to what she was referring. In fact, he meant to but he was too preoccupied by the curve in the very left corner of her mouth. In that moment he realized something. Despite his mother's words, Selene's homesickness and disappointment in him over sending her to Winterfell, despite the fact that a child had died in her arms only two days prior, she was smiling. It may have been small, easily missed by anyone who had not studied her mouth as diligently as he had, but it was there.

He wasn't sure when she began touching him, but her hand had somehow slipped from his own and slid over his chest, her fingertips lightly grazing the dark curls on his chest and up over his collar bone with as much ease as if she'd done it a thousand times. If a touch could intoxicate he was sure his head was already spinning.

He wasn't sure of his movements as he leaned towards her, watching her eyes full of wonder and curiosity. Their lips were inches apart as they breathed the same air, their wine hinted breaths mixed and now it was her eyes that were so focused downwards, at his mouth. He wanted to slow down, to ensure that her intoxication had not clouded her judgement but something in the air or something in the way she watched him with eyes that glittered in the firelight, left him too bewitched to tell the difference.

Their lips grazed, just slightly enough that he felt a brisk jolt in his stomach. But as soon as he thought he'd take more of lips, of her kiss when there was a curt knock on the heavy wooden door. It was a sound that had the ability to sober both of them in that moment, and neither seemed to notice until then how hurried their breaths were.

The knock came again, along with the voice of one of Selene's ladies and they both turned and beckoned her in at the same time. Her voice was strangled slightly, his voice husky and full of untamed desire that he had not known until the moment he thought he might kiss her.

The door opened to Aida pushing a small cart, a covered plate on top and he realized Selene must have ordered dinner in their rooms for that evening. He hadn't realized he was hungry until then when his stomach growled and both ladies did their best not to snicker at the timing of it. Aida uncovered the plate for them, lighting the candles on the small table nearest the fire.

"Shall I ring for a bath, Your Grace?" the young woman asked and it took him a moment before Robb realized she was speaking to him. He shook his head, a bit too quickly.

"No," he replied, clearing his throat. "I will not need one until tomorrow, after the hunt."

"You're hunting tomorrow?" Selene asked and Aida took her leave as the two sat down the allotted chairs just across from each other. As hungry as Robb was he was still much too bemused to think of the food as he watched her cross her legs, her gown rising slightly to reveal the milky flesh of her thigh.

"I-" he started, finding that his throat once again was in need of clearing. "I thought it best that we give Lady Mallister a feast to express our gratitude for her hospitality."

"That is indeed a kind gesture," she said, her voice low as she cut served him a still-hot bowl of stew. "When will you return south?" she asked then, her eyes lowered as she served herself and her seriousness gradually returned.

"In a week, I believe," he answered. "I need time to gather what supplies I can for the ships and your men, as well as anything I can use to help draw some of Tywin Lannister's army west whilst your father sails for King's Landing."

"You think it will be soon?" she asked skeptically and Robb shrugged.

"He has given me reason to believe it could be as soon as a months time from now. Thanks to you, I can successfully launch my campaign in the West, draw Tywin out from the Crownlands and allow your father to lay siege to King's Landing long enough to starve out the Lannister bastards."

"Once Storm's End is secured," she reminded him. "My father still battles for the Stormlands to ensure more support is garnered. If he can persuade the Tyrells, then our forces will take the East and the West. Not even Lord Tywin's gold could buy him victory then."

The both grinned at her jest but both knew how heavy a Tyrell alliance would weigh upon this war. Neither speculated aloud, knowing that there was little chance of Mace Tyrell bargaining with Stannis. Not only had the Baratheon-Tyrell alliance been on thin ice since the Siege of Storm's End had been lifted during Robert's Rebellion, but there was also the mysterious death of Renly Baratheon to take into consideration. And both Robb and Selene knew under which circumstances he had been assassinated.

"Even without the Tyrells, I still hold the Kingslayer," he reminded her and her eyes widened.

"I had nearly forgotten," she replied, mouth agape. "Tywin is bound to tread carefully with his heir as your hostage. Though I heard the Imp has been sent to King's Landing in his place to act as Hand of the King since-" she stopped then, swallowing slightly and diverting her gaze from his.

All playfulness had been lost in a split second of bad memories. But Robb reached across the table and placed his fingers over hers, just gently and he was surprised when she didn't flinch. She only stared at them and then at him, letting her blue eyes rise to meet his own full of guilt.

"I shouldn't have-" she started to say but he stopped her.

"Please," he protested softly. "I'd rather not pretend as if he never existed."

She nodded but it did not replace the easy conversation they had previously had. All the joy had been suffocated in one brief near-mention of his father and he wished it hadn't. But he couldn't stop thinking about him then, his father who he was determined to avenge. His noble father who had died trying to protect the kingdoms.

"I told your mother, whilst we were at Riverrun, how I remembered him as a child," she whispered, and her voice was kind, much softer than he remembered it. "When I saw you, in your armor and covered in filth," she started. "I thought then that you looked a great deal like he did at Storm's End, when he came to lift the siege so many years ago."

"You saw him then?"

"I was just a girl, too young to remember much. But I remembered him. I remembered him standing before my father and he looked down at me. I was mesmerized. I had never seen anyone look so heroic in all my life. My father only spoke well of him. Even after all these years." Robb found something comforting in her words, knowing that she had known him, however briefly. "My father would never admit it, but I know he blames himself for Lord Stark's death. If he hadn't worked with Jon Arryn, and fled so abruptly after his death, then perhaps your father would not have been so invested in what they were searching for."

"And if he hadn't, then the kingdoms would never have known the truth of Joffrey's parentage. Our fathers fought for the truth. No one is to blame but the Lannisters. They tried to kill my brother, they executed my father, and they hold my sisters captive."

"And they will suffer for it," Selene promised, her voice low and her vow dark. "They have not just wronged you. House Baratheon ends with me and my sister. If I had been the son my father so desperately craved, then I would be able to continue our line. But the Lannisters have tainted the Baratheon name. I will not have Lannister blood claim our birthright."

Robb thought then of his mother's warning. Would Selene abandon him for the lust of her own kingdom. If she became the Queen on the Iron Throne how could they hope to rule both kingdoms from the North. Would she seek to claim it all? Looking at her before he could not imagine her treachery. But hearing her dark words, her talk of Baratheon and Lannister, it made him wonder if such a thing were possible.

But he did not bother to mention it then. He instead let the silence fall into something much more comfortable as they ate their meal together, both trying to temporarily forget the past. Robb could feel something inside of him changing as he watched her. But he wasn't sure if it would be for the better, or if she would be the death of him.

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****A/N: So this chapter was a bit sparse, but I didn't want to hit on too many things in one chapter. I am blown away by the response I've gotten to this story in the last few weeks. Thank you so much to all of those who reviewed and PM'd with such lovely words of encouragement. I am so excited to continue on and see where this journey leads them. Please continue to let me know what you all think of the story. Your reviews and messages really are the best encouragement I could ask for.********


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